Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Rightful Heirs
by Sentimentalthoughts
Summary: This story follows the lives of Oliver and Shane early in the marriage as they learn of love through times adversity and blessing. The writing of the extraordinary Martha Williamson and the incredible cast of Signed, Sealed, Delivered inspire the characters in this tale.
1. Chapter 1

The Rightful Heir

Chapter One

Oliver O'Toole cherished Shane McInerney O'Toole and she cherished him. They married, enjoyed a fabulous honeymoon, and returned to build a life together. And the life they were building together was beautiful and good.

They were thoughtful of each other. They paid attention to the details. This thoughtfulness was exhibited in myriad small ways. One gesture revolved around their choice of beverage. Oliver always had an empty mug along with a napkin, spoon, and the sugar bowl by the coffee maker waiting for Shane when she entered the kitchen in the morning. She made certain there were Yoo-hoo's in the house, the office, and even at Ramon's new bistro. Moreover, she never teased this man of letters about his odd habit. These are not matters of great consequence in and of themselves; however, _the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts._

They did not take each other for granted. They frequently left each other little notes – even when they could have communicated face to face. Handwritten words were important to Oliver so they were important to Shane. Messages she could have sent by phone she wrote on post-its, backs of used envelopes, and for special occasions on English stationary. "Remember I'm having lunch Saturday with Rita. But I will still be thinking of you," read the yellow sticky note left on the bathroom mirror. Then there was the note Shane found on her dresser: "Your words of encouragement were a salve to my heart this morning. Thank you for remembering that this is a hard day for me. I can't wait to see you. I won't be late after choir." Oliver's preference was linen stationary. This particular note was written on ecru cardstock with his initials embossed in the lower right hand corner.

While public displays of affection were not a part of Oliver's nature, neither of them took for granted the intimacy they shared. Being married certainly didn't lessen the light in Oliver's eyes when Shane walked into a room. The man that she once called a human antique was a very demonstrative husband. In ways obvious to lovers and in ways more subtle they each demonstrated their affection. Shane wasn't sure if Oliver was aware of the fact that he would rub her arm after he helped her put on her coat. If they were sitting beside each other she would subconsciously lean in his direction. Before going to sleep he stroked her hair as if to say without words "I adore you." If she woke in the night she would carefully find his leg with her foot – just to know that even in the dark he was present. Shane also knew why one kiss from Oliver could make you change your mind – or at least forget where you were. Together they could become breathless and transported but always safe.

Significantly they remembered what mattered most – faith. They supported each other in nurturing and exercising this centrality of their marriage. They held hands to pray together at breakfast. They worshiped together on Sunday. Respected and encouraged the other in individual daily devotions. Discussions on the interplay of faith and their daily walk were becoming a natural part of their routine as asking about the weather. It was definitely woven into the tapestry of their lives. Faith was the basis of their moral certitude.

But some habits and traditions brought into a marriage can cause strife and conflict – even between two good people. The area of most contention for the O'Tooles was the house – at least in Shane's mind Oliver's inordinate care and affection for the house – to Oliver it was Shane's lack of appreciation for its legacy. When Shane first moved into the house Oliver grimaced if she wanted to move even a single picture frame from one side of a table to the other.

"It's just that the sunlight from the window might fade the photograph should one turn it askew."

"Askew, really? Fine. Leave it where it was."

Several months later their most heated argument ended with Oliver's mastery of language and quick mind not serving him well and Shane's ability to strike a direct verbal blow causing for a cooling-off and even more fervent apologies.

Oliver came home from spending the Saturday morning with his dad to find Shane painting the downstairs powder room.

"What the Sam Hill."

"Don't you like it? We agreed to painting the room."

"We never said anything about changing the color or leaving coffee cups sitting in the floor while one does so," Oliver says while reaching down to pick up Shane's cup.

"You mean changing from white to beige? I don't know what I was thinking."

Just then she swung her arms wide much like a day in DLO long ago that resulted in a wedding band flying across the room. This time instead of a wedding band she hit the coffee cup in Oliver's hand splattering coffee on everything within three feet.

"It is clear to me that your lax care for this house and its contents reflects your lack of appreciation for the legacy to which they belong," said Oliver.

"Honestly my lax care, you mean the fact that I'm not obsessed with coasters! Excuse me, I thought this was our home, not a museum filled with antiquities," Shane shot back. "I am not your curator. I am your wife."

And there it was. Shane picked up her handbag and her laptop and stormed out the door. Oliver stood frozen among his antiques and collectables.

It was not their best moment. Truthfully it was both of them at their worst and weakest.

Three hours later Oliver heard the back door open and the familiar sound of her keys being placed on the kitchen counter. Shane turned and looked on the table and found one dozen yellow roses. The note read simply, "For my wife, my love." Shane kicked off her heals and literally ran through the house calling for him, longing for his warm embrace, and yearning to make her own apologies.

"Oliver! Oliver! I'm so sorry."

"No, I am sorry. What I said was uncalled for."

"I don't want you to ever think that what is important to you is not important to me."

"I know. I know."

Forgiveness coupled with physical intimacy goes a long way in making life better on a Saturday afternoon. It can also result in pregnancy. While that result was most celebrated a repeat performance of the argument and the issue that was the basis for the fight were most unwanted.

Compromise and communication became the key. Oliver said what should have been said all along and did pretty much what needed to be done to make this house a home for both of them. Moving an end table, replacing a lamp, hanging a new picture were not acts of betrayal. At the same time Shane was determined to try to see the house more through Oliver's eyes. She learned which pieces actually came from his family and the stories behind them. She found out about things he had purchased that matched items from old photos of the house. Nevertheless Shane was still concerned about Oliver's attachment to the house. The more she learned in some ways the more bothered she became.

Shane knew that Oliver's attachment to the house was not based on its market value although that was considerable. Oliver was not materialistic. He practically gave away an inherited fortune by placing it in a charitable trust. She knew he loved the fact that generations of O'Tooles lived there and now so did they. But there still seemed to be another piece to this puzzle that his wife was yet to uncover.

With time and Oliver's blessing Shane eventually brought more of her own style to various rooms in the house. However, with very few exceptions the master bedroom that Shane discovered on her first visit to the O'Toole ancestral home remained the same. At least it remained the same until the fifth month of her pregnancy. Then it was Oliver who made a few minor changes.

Oliver insisted on some tiny additions to the room. The additions were night-lights and a stepladder for the bed. He proudly walked into the kitchen one Saturday with his purchases.

"Did you and your dad and Bill have a good time?" asked Shane.

"Yes, we sold all of the blankets that Bill wove for the winter market as well as getting a good price for the table that Dad and I built. I am proud to announce that the children's home is several hundred dollars richer," said Oliver.

"That's wonderful! Ardis will be excited about those blankets. Did you get lunch?"

"Oh yes. Dad and Bill discussed spring planting," chuckled Oliver. "Afterward uh, I went shopping."

"Um, Oliver O'Toole shopping?"

"I purchased a dozen nightlights and I found this wonderful piece that complements our bed," said Oliver, setting his purchases in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"And why do we need nightlights and - and a bedside - step stool?" questioned Shane.

"I thought we might like a couple of the tiny lights in our bedroom, and maybe in the bathroom, and down the hallway into the kitchen," said Oliver. "See. They cut themselves off and on based on the light in the room. Is that not technologically advanced!"

"And why would we light up our home like an airport runway?"

"Safety," said Oliver. "I read it in one of those online sites you peruse. I clicked and there it was. It's really amazing you know," said Oliver trying to move the topic along.

The puzzled and doubting expression on Shane's face cued Oliver that the hearer was not convinced.

"Do you have any idea how many accidents occur when people meander through their home in the dark? And this bedside step stool will match our bed perfectly. Aren't we fortunate that I found it? You can just step right up. No more hopping, jumping, just stepping."

"Oliver, I'm pregnant. I'm not clumsy. I'm not an invalid. Honestly, I think you would wrap me in bubble wrap. I can certainly still get in the…"

At this point Shane turned and tripped over the steps Oliver had just purchased. Oliver dived to catch her. He was successfully chivalrous in his attempt except for the pitcher of water in Shane's hand that soaked them both. Steadying his pregnant wife and making certain that she was fine much laughter ensued. After Oliver mopped the floor the very protective father-to-be busied himself plugging nightlights (almost enough for an airport runway) and securing the ladder beside their antique bed. His protective nature was not to be thwarted.

While Shane thought it all unnecessary she loved him for caring and went along with what she referred to as their new runway décor.

By the time Shane neared the seventh month of pregnancy Oliver maintained almost a full tank of gas in the car at all times, kept a set of his clothes on a hanger at the front of his closet (ready to dress for the hospital at a moment's notice), and hung an extra car key on a nail driven into the closet door just as a precaution. He said he was merely being practical. He insisted that she have an overnight bag of her things packed and kept by the door of their bedroom. He was at her beckon call. He even carried his own cell phone. The phone had a grand total of four contacts: Shane, his dad, Norman, and the hospital.

It was now a bitter cold early March evening. Oliver had a fire going in the fireplace in the front room. He and Shane ate dinner and cleaned the kitchen. With the few responsibilities that belonged to Sunday completed, he moved to the crackling comfort of the fire and sat on the couch reading. Shane dressed for bed and joined him - curling up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, her feet on the sofa.

"How's the book?"

"Extremely informative," said Oliver, continuing to read.

"Are you learning something new?" asked Shane.

"Yes," replied the still engaged reader.

"How many more books on babies are you going read?" asked Shane.

"You are not going to allow me to read tonight are you?" said Oliver with a grin.

In the soon-to-be-a-dad's hands was a copy of _The Baby's First Year_. A basket on the floor by the sofa held the contents of Oliver's recent bibliography: _What to Expect the First Year_ , _Heading Home with Your Newborn, Childbirth: A Guide to Understanding from Labor to Delivery, Caring for Your Baby and Young Child,_ and _Goodnight Moon;_ all of which Oliver had completed from dust jacket to dust jacket _._

"No," said Shane biting her bottom lip. "The crib looks great. You did a good job putting it together."

"It was not difficult as long as one did **not** read the instructions," said Oliver with a proud smile and a raised eyebrow.

"I'm glad that our bedroom is big. I don't think it's too crowded with the crib and the new rocker. Do you?" said Shane.

"It is fine," said Oliver, lovingly slipping one arm around her shoulders and resting one hand where she carried his unborn child.

His wife responds snuggling all the closer.

"It's just you worked so hard on the nursery: painting, hanging curtains, carrying the rocker upstairs, then bringing it back downstairs. You even had the room rewired and monitors installed. You aren't too disappointed are you?"

"I am in no way disappointed. I concur with your assessment. When the baby is older we can move her…"

"Or him."

"Or him upstairs. Besides, I prefer you not dash up and down stairs to care for this little one when I go back to work," he said, kissing Shane on the forehead.

"Well I am either giving birth to a soccer player or a dancer, this little one likes to kick," said Shane, shifting to become more comfortable. "Oh, I almost forgot. The realtor called. Raj moved out last week and she wants to know if we want to rent again or list it."

"I say we think about that tomorrow. I am putting this book in the basket and walking my wife to bed. I have it on good authority that we both should sleep while we can," said Oliver.

"Oh did the book tell you that?" asked Shane.

"No, my dad did." Oliver replied with a smile, helping Shane rise from the couch.

The two walk arm in arm to the master bedroom that is home to a refinished antique rocking chair and a new crib. There is something stable and reassuring in the routines they have developed as a married couple: Shane dressing for bed first; Oliver sliding in bed beside her; Shane always saying "I love you" and Oliver replying "good night my love" and stroking her hair before falling asleep.

Tonight they feel a particular closeness as they slip into each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning begins as usual - 6:00 a.m. sharp. Oliver rises first. He makes only one large cup of coffee for himself. With a baby on the way Shane is coffee free. Early morning is his time of solitude. Shane gets up 30 minutes later and makes the bed. They eat breakfast, dress, tidy the house, and leave for work.

At 8:15 Shane and Oliver arrive at the Denver Main Branch. Norman and Rita are already in the DLO.

"Happy Monday," said Shane with a particular bubbly effervescence for a Monday.

"Good morning," responded Norman.

"Rita," said Oliver with a nod. "Is everyone prepared for this day's labors?"

The review of tasks begins. The list for this Monday includes letters to sort and resend (primarily Rita's responsibility); tracking a lost package for an agent in D.C. (falling to the computer skills of Shane); continuing experiments in the lab for recovery solutions (Norman's purview); and departmental meetings (Oliver's duty and the bane of his existence – especially those requiring Skype).

A new procedure is now followed concerning ripped and mangled, unattached items or items considered undeliverable. An employee from the annex brings the packages directly to the DLO first thing Monday morning. This responsibility falls to a young guy known only as Tommy. These items usually require the entire team's engagement.

By 9:00 a.m. Norman is arrayed in lab coat and goggles, head down with yet another solution. This chemical wonder is specifically for printed mailing labels. Shane decides to assist Rita at least for the morning. An inordinate number of letters have been literally dumped on her workstation. Oliver begrudgingly goes to a departmental meeting.

"Thanks for helping. I have never seen so much mail on a Monday," said Rita.

"Glad to do it," said Shane. "I'll get back on the D.C. package later."

"Did you and Oliver have a nice weekend?" asked Rita.

"No," said Shane, very matter-of-fact.

"No?" said Rita, dropping her voice.

"We had a wonderful weekend," said Shane laughing.

"Whew, you scared me," said Rita.

"I'm sorry," chuckled Shane. "We got things ready for the baby. We went to church. You know – had some special moments just the two of us."

"That is really sweet."

"Have you two heard any more from the adoption agency?" asked Shane.

"Not since we were approved. They said it could take a year to 18 months before a child is available. We are just going to…"

"Trust the timing."

"Trust the timing. Have you and Oliver decided on a name yet?" asked Rita.

"Well, if it's a boy I am in favor of Joseph Henry and call him Henry. If it's a girl, I like Olivia but I haven't convinced Oliver - yet," said Shane.

"What does Oliver want?"

"He mentioned Leticia Josephine O'Toole. I hope he was working on his humor and not serious," chuckled Shane.

"Oliver O'Toole, report to the front desk. Oliver O'Toole, report to the front desk" blared over the public address system interrupting the women's conversation.

"Uhm, that's odd. I wonder what that's about," said Shane.

Rita shrugged and the two kept working.

"You don't want to bring Baby O'Toole home without a name," said Norman, coming from the lab and returning to his desk. "I had a baby cousin who came to our foster home without a name. The other kids named him."

"What did they name him?"

"Nabs."

"Nabs?"

"They took the first letter of the every boy living there – Norman, Alex, Benny, and Sam."

"Did the name stick?" asked Shane.

"I don't know. He went to live with his forever-family the next day."

"We will make certain to choose a name before the baby is born," said Shane with a smile.

"Well you have 4 weeks to decide," said Rita.

"Twenty-five days," said Shane. "Not that I'm counting," she continued, rubbing her stomach and exhaling.

Truly, Shane was one of those women for whom pregnancy seemed to be made. She positively glowed. Everything was going well. She continued to exercise and maintain a healthy diet. She felt great. This morning Oliver could have caught her feeling beautiful.

Hours earlier Shane stood in front of the bathroom mirror still in her floral silk robe brushing her hair. She was irresistible to him, her body reshaped by their love for each other.

"Are we humming a little tune this morning?" Oliver asked, stepping closely behind her with his face beside hers and viewing her in the mirror.

"Yes, we are," she replied to his image reflected beside her own.

The smell of his cologne and his freshly shaven face were greeted with a kiss. He gladly reciprocated.

The previous night had been a particularly close time for the two of them. As much as they looked forward to the birth of their child, they treasured these quiet solitary times together. If you described last evening no one would think it was anything special. Somehow Shane just had a feeling that last night was to be remembered.

Perhaps it was the sentimental afterglow from the previous evening. Perhaps it was just the incredible feeling of carrying a child and being loved by the most wonderful man. Whatever the reason when she woke this particular Monday morning Shane dressed more to celebrate the blessings of life than a woman on her way to work. She chose a plum-colored fitted sheath maternity dress with a scoop neck and three-quarter sleeves. It showed every beautiful aspect of her pregnancy. It also looked great with the amethyst earrings that Oliver gave her when he learned she was expecting. She usually wore these on special occasions but if you are celebrating life anyway then why not. They really stood out with her hair pulled up into beautiful bun at the nape of her neck. In spite of the doctor recommending she give up the highest of her heels when the shoes look that great with a dress those black pumps are a must. Simply put, she looked stunning and her adoring husband noticed. It was in this spirit of joy that they had gone to work.

Although the DLO was long relocated from its larger space, there was one thing the two areas had in common – a squeaky door. The sweeping squeak had all three heads turning as Tommy entered.

"Hey ya DLO."

"Hey ya Tommy," the POstables replied.

"We don't have much so far this week. These don't look too bad," said Tommy, pushing a cart with packages into the DLO for the POstables to process. "See ya later alligator."

"See ya later," replied the three in unison to Tommy's standard words of exit.

"Do you think we should reply 'after while crocodile'?" asked Norman.

"No," both women answered simultaneously.

Norman made his way from his desk to investigate the contents of the cart.

"They sent three ripped and mangled items and one unattached object?" questioned Norman.

"That's strange. They don't usually send an unattached object with the ripped and mangled ones. What is it?" said Rita.

"A button. Wait. That's not an unattached object. That's my unattached button from my sweater. It must have fallen off in the cart. Look. It matches!" said Norman. "You want to start on ripped and mangled this afternoon or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is good with me," sighed Rita.

"Yes, I'm still tracking that lost package for the guys in D.C. I will need to get back on that this afternoon. They are not too happy," said Shane.

"Well, I think the guys in D.C. should be happy that you do anything for them," said Norman, without malice, just very matter-of-fact.

"Let's leave the past in the past," said Shane.

"As long as the past stays in D.C. I will," said Rita. "In my book, _Renita Hayweather_ _Frontier Duchess_ , Mr. Delorman had to fight a duel before the bad guy got the message."

"Somehow I think between my being married and expecting a child that D.C. certainly got the message. Dueling pistols probably aren't necessary," said Shane.

After Shane's returned from her assignment with Homeland, the name Steve Marek was never mentioned in the DLO. Shane and Oliver settled things between each other and Shane had a personal conversation with Rita. Life moved on without the man from D.C. However, the idea that he or anyone from his department would ask anything of Shane still sparked a little ire from Rita and Norman. They had witnessed first hand the pain that his actions had caused. While their forgiving natures held no grudge against anyone who may have wronged them personally they would forever feel a little protective of their dearest friends.

The three close-knit POstables continue their various tasks not fully aware of the passing hour or of Oliver's extended absence. Once again the squeaking door signals that someone is entering the DLO. However, this time it was not a fellow employee.

Instead Joe O'Toole pushes through the door. His furrowed brow and concerned eyes speak volumes but in that moment no one is really looking his way. Shane is busy at her computer. Rita is still redirecting mail and Norman has settled to work at his desk.

"It's Joe," greeted a cheery Rita. One look at Joe's face stopped Rita from saying another word.

"Where's Shane?" asked Joe.

Rita gestures toward Shane as Joe makes his way to her side.

"Over here," said a lighthearted Shane, still not looking up from her computer screen. Finally she too saw Joe's face. "Joe, everything all right?"

"Let's go sit down. I need to talk to you about something," said Joe, taking his pregnant daughter-in-law by the arm and leading her over to the worn sofa in DLO.

The two walk over to the couch and are seated.

"What's going on? Do I need to get Oliver?"

"No but I have some bad news. This morning…this morning there was fire at your house. A neighbor spotted it and called the fire department."

"But we just left. Everything was fine. There must be a mistake," said Shane.

"I wish it was a mistake," said Joe.

"Oliver is in a meeting but we can call him," said Shane sliding forward on the sofa and starting for the office phone. "And he just finished the nursery. Do you think we can get everything repaired before the baby arrives?"

"Hey, let's sit back down," said Joe.

Suddenly the sound of Oliver being paged to come to the front desk occurred to her.

"Oliver isn't in a meeting is he?"

"No. He got the call when he was in the meeting. He is there now. He sent me to tell you. He was afraid you would find out before he could get back. He said that he was sorry he couldn't tell you and to tell you not to worry everything will be fine."

"How bad is it?" asked Shane.

"Listen to me, nothing matters but you and this baby," said Joe, taking Shane's hands in his.

"Joe?" she insisted.

"It's gone," said Joe. "The house was completely destroyed."

"Gone?" said Shane, as if she could not possibly comprehend the news. She turned away from Joe and searched the DLO as if she was looking for someone to wake her from a bad dream.

"I've got to go to him," said Shane.

"It's freezing cold outside. There is nothing you can do. Why don't we wait here for Oliver?" said Joe.

"No. No," insisted Shane, too shocked to cry.

"Then I'll take you," said Joe, encompassing his stunned daughter-in-law in his supportive embrace. "But remember, you and this baby are more important to him than anything you lost today."

As Shane and Joe leave the DLO, Norman and Rita experience their own shock and dismay at the news. Norman slowly rises from his desk and walks to Rita's side, his smile now turned downward. They had known and loved Oliver through many hardships and now – just when he was the happiest they had ever seen him – he loses his ancestral home.

"What do we do?" asked Norman, feeling very helpless.

"Pray, Norman. We pray," said Rita.


	3. Chapter 3

As Joe drives Shane to the house neither he nor Shane speak. Shane's mind is busy questioning everything she did that morning. "Did I leave the straightener on? What about the coffee maker or a burner on the stove?" Her memory is a blur from the news. She recalls nothing.

Joe's truck rolls to a complete stop. The roadblock brings Shane out of her mental review to face the smoldering rubble that once was her home. For a moment she sits in stunned silence: the lights from the emergency vehicles still flashing, the street still closed to traffic, the smell of smoke still heavy in the air.

The fire fighters continue to extinguish any remaining hot spots. The biting cold creates a vapor off the water that mixes with the smoke making the scene all the more surreal. The remains of the once varied roof now lie on the ground. Virtually the only identifiable remnants of the house are the chimney and the steps leading to a front door that no longer exists.

It is one thing to be told your house is gone. It is another to experience it.

Shane had very little morning sickness during her pregnancy. But the site in front of her is gut wrenching and she thinks she might be sick. Joe watches the color leave her face.

"You wait here. I'll find Oliver," said Joe.

The devastated woman merely nods.

Joe exits the truck and walks through the maze of hoses and fire equipment. Finally he spots his son standing with arms dangling from his drooping shoulders staring at what was once his house. Putting his hand on Oliver's back, Joe guides him back to Shane. Oliver does not look Joe in the face.

As soon as she sees him approach, she slips from the cabin and wraps her arms around him. Oliver can feel the weight of Shane's grief as her tears fall against his face in their embrace. Oliver shed no tears but if it was humanly possible to feel a loved one's heart breaking, his breaking heart could be felt by Shane.

"We'll get through this," she says, wiping her tears off the side of his cheek.

Hearing the voice of the dearest home he has ever known, Oliver swallows hard the lump in his throat.

"I know," he replies.

"You must be freezing. You don't have your topcoat," said Shane.

"I did not realize. I left in a bit of a rush. You are the one, the two, for whom care must be taken." Oliver speaks softly forcing a smile and stroking the sleeve of her coat.

"Do they know what happened?" asks Shane.

"Not yet," said Oliver.

Oliver and Shane stand together – his arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist – numbed by the scene before them. Once the area is secure and officials assure them nothing else could be done today, they leave.

It is hard to imagine not even having a toothbrush, not a single change of clothing. That is where Shane and Oliver O'Toole find themselves. Reeling from the day's loss the two stay with Joe that night. Oliver has trouble accepting his dad's hospitality. He has difficulty looking him in the face. To Oliver this is a particular O'Toole loss - one for which he feels uniquely responsible. Norman and Rita come by to offer their love and aid. A trip to the drug store takes care of one night's necessities. Tomorrow will have to take care of itself.

Late into the night when Oliver is certain that Shane is asleep he creeps out of bed, gets dressed in the only clothes he owns and a borrowed coat from his dad. He drives to the address he once knew as home. The snow mixed with soot and dried grass crunch underneath Oliver's feet as he slowly approaches the remnants of the house. A waning full moon lights the snow patched March night. Water from the fire hose has frozen on the debris casting a crystal sparkle that taunts him as he sits on what is left of his steps. He had held back the tears all day. But night has fallen and so had his resolve. Oliver sits alone on what is left of the steps and weeps.


	4. Chapter 4

Tuesday morning Rita and Norman enter the unusually quiet DLO. There is sunshine outdoors but none inside. The Dormans lost sleep, tossing and turning, thinking about their dearest friends. They don't expect the O'Tooles to be at worktoday. They go about their duties striving to be faithful to the tasks at hand. Norman enters the lab, lights a Bunsen burner, and then extinguishes it. Rita takes one envelope from the dead letter basket and then puts it back. Nothing in front of them seems to matter today. After several minutes of accomplishing nothing Norman shuffles out of the lab and walks to Rita's station.

"My heart's just not in it today," said Rita.

"Mine either," said Norman.

"Do you think they will live in Shane's house?" asked Norman.

"They could. Last night when we were all at Joe's house, Shane told me the tenant had moved so they would probably live there until they decide what to do next," explained Rita.

"What to do next – what are we going to do next?" asked Norman.

"We have the ripped and mangled that Tommy brought?"

"We do need to do something with those," said Norman. "I'll get the cart."

The two POstables have three items from which to choose. One is an inordinately large manila envelope with one corner missing and a huge dead spider crushed on the front directly over the address. The other seems clearly to be a poorly packaged basketball with only one half of its address label remaining intact. The third is a box whose wrapping is badly torn and soaked by something pink and slightly purple. The mailing address is lost in a sea of murky pastels. The zip code for Denver is legible as well as the first name of the intended recipient – Ann or maybe Anna. There is no return address.

"Which one?" asked Norman.

"I really don't like spiders," said Rita. "Even dead ones."

"I don't like basketballs. The big kids used to throw them at my head."

"That leaves this one," said Rita, forcing enthusiasm.

Norman removes the box from the metal cart and begins looking over the wrapping.

"Do you know what is worse than a cutesy return address?" asked Norman.

"No return address at all?" said Rita.

"Yep. It's clearly intended for a Denver delivery to someone named Ann or Anna something."

"Check the postage," said Rita.

"The date is….is…blurred. We need a magnifying glass."

"Good idea."

"Oh, here it is. The date is August of last year and it was mailed from…hey, it's postmarked Norman, Oklahoma."

"Norman, it's from Norman. How about that," said Rita, throwing her shoulders back proudly.

The two stand there grinning at each other loving their own joke. Norman turns and takes a letter opener and gives it to Rita.

"Rita, would you do the honors?"

"Oh Norman, that's so sweet. I'd be glad to," replied Rita.

Rita takes the letter opener and slits the tape holding the ordinary brown wrapping paper together. The sender had placed the contents in an obviously previously used Macy's gift box. In the box was an old brown accordion folder with a flap that was secured with an elastic string. A white legal envelope and a smaller yellow envelope were slipped under the elastic string. Both were addressed simply to Anna. The difference was the white envelope was typed and the yellow envelope was addressed by hand.

"I don't think this came from any Macy's." said Norman.

"Me either. You can see where they cut a gift tag off the box. They left a little of a tag under the piece of tape."

"Yeah. That looks like a part of a giant green robe."

"Norman, I think that is half of a Christmas tree."

"One way of the other it really doesn't help us much," said Norman.

"No. I guess we have to open one of these letter," said Rita.

"Which one first?"

"The typed one. It looks official, less personal.

Norman began to read.

 _Dear Anna,_

"So it is Anna on the address," said Rita.

 _I just found this folder full of letters that belonged to Nana. When Nana died…._

"Oh Nana died," interupted Rita.

Norman shakes his head in affirmation and continues to read.

 _… it was mistakenly placed in the chest in the basement. It was intended for you. I apologize that it was not discovered and sent to you at the time of her death. I am not taking time to write further. I am rushing to mail it to you immediately._

 _Tim_

"What do we know so far?" said Norman. "That's what Oliver always asks."

"We have an expanding file folder that belonged to Nana sent to an Anna in Denver from a Tim in Norman, Oklahoma."

"Not enough to deliver."

"Examine the other letter," said Rita.

"The handwriting appears to belong to an elderly female," said Norman.

"Maybe it's Nana."

"Let's open it and see."

Norman removed the letter from the envelope and read aloud.

 _My dearest Anna,_

 _From the first time I held you I loved you. I thought you were the prettiest baby that I had ever seen, but I guess most grandmothers think that. As you grew I thought how alike we are. I treasure the memory of all the stories I read to you when you were tiny and of all the stories you learned to read to me as you grew. Those early days when you first began to play school – I the student and you the teacher – brought joy to my heart. When you told me that you felt called to be a schoolteacher I burst with pride._

"Anna is a….Oliver," began a surprised Norman. "We didn't expect to see you today."

"I came by to get my coat," replied a very weary looking O'Toole.

Oliver walks quickly across the DLO and grabs his coat never making eye-contact with his closest friends. He turns to a shelf behind his desk to retrieve his hat, a hat he hasn't worn in years. He stops to rifle through a desk drawer. He removes something small and flat and tosses it in the wastebasket. The clink with which it hits has certain finality to it.

Rita and Norman's faces fill with concern for the stoic but obliviously broken front before them. In hope of offering some consolation, Rita steps into Oliver's path as he attempts to leave.

"Oliver, how are you?" asked Rita. "How is Shane?"

"Fine. She's fine. She has a doctor's appointment later today, just as a precautionary measure."

"Is there anything we can do?" Norman asked.

"Handle things here, which I am certain you both are doing. I am on my way to meet with the fire marshall and an insurance agent."

"We hope that goes well," said Rita.

"I may have a cousin who is pyrologist who could explain the cause and origin."

"Thank you," said Oliver, putting on his coat and the hat. "But knowing the cause will not change what happened. As the owner it was my responsibility to protect the house and it is apparent that I have failed and I have done so at a time when my wife is with child."

"Oh no, Oliver," pleaded Rita. "This is not your fault."

"I am afraid that it is. I built a fire in the fireplace Sunday evening and I obviously failed to be diligent in extinguishing it. Now I face the consequences. If you will excuse me."

Oliver left abruptly. His curt and stoic reply left Rita and Norman without words. Their friend was deeply wounded and blaming himself.

"This isn't good," said Rita.

"No, it isn't," Norman said. "That key he took from his desk…"

"Yes."

"It was his spare house key."

"I was afraid of that," replied Rita, pushing up her glasses. "Norman, I just can't think about letters right now."

"Me either," said Norman.

"I need some chocolate," said Rita.

"Before lunch?" questioned Norman

"Serious chocolate. I mean some three layer cake with a ganache filling and chocolate buttercream icing - from Ramon's."

"Ramon's," said Norman, with an eye roll. "I was thinking more about a good cry."

The two return the letter to its envelope and place it in the hanging tray by Oliver's desk. The file is placed carefully on the shelf for current projects. It is exactly as Oliver would have handled things if he were there.

Norman and Rita brave the unusually cold March and walk to the bistro. The lunch crowd has yet to arrive and they seat themselves in a small booth. They are barely seated when the tall proprietor joins them pushing Norman into the wall as he slides in to sit beside him.

"Rita, Rita. And Normando," Ramon said, grabbing Norman's hand causing Norman's eyes to become the size of a coffee cup saucer. "I heard the terrible news about the beautiful Shane and the good man Ovileer. It is so sad."

"Yes it is," said Rita, looking quite forlorn. "That's why we are here. We don't know what to do."

"Well in my family, when tragedy strikes we throw a huge celebration to cheer those who have lost. We surround them with music, and dancing, and many gifts.," said Ramon, dramatically gesticulating while still holding onto Norman's hand. Norman's eyes follow not quite sure if his arm is about to become dislocated from his shoulder.

"Gifts!" exclaimed Rita. "Of course."

"Of course?" questioned Norman, freeing his hand from Ramon's grasp and sitting on it thinking it would be safer.

"Yes, we can throw them a baby shower!" Rita declared. "They lost everything they bought in the fire. And I know where almost everything came from. Shane told me all about the crib and the rocker."

"Everybody at the post office could chip in," said Norman. "Everybody likes Shane and Oliver."

"I can get Hazel to pass out invitations. It can be a surprise!"

"Of course and I will host at The Mailbox Grille. It is larger and we will have music and dancing!"

"This is good," said Norman.

"Shall we say Friday after work?" suggested Ramon.

"Friday is perfect," said Rita.

"We will have Mail Box Meatballs. I will make them baby size. And we can have…."

Norman and Rita eat an early lunch with Ramon that consists primarily of chocolate cake and further plans for the shower. As soon as they return to the Post Office they find Hazel in the break room sharing her tuna salad sandwich with Lester.

"Look, it's Norman and Rita. You can tell them," said Hazel, trying to whisper but failing.

"Tell us?" asked Rita.

"We heard about the dastardly burning of the home of or co-workers, Oliver and Shane." As soon as he says Shane's name he burst into an inappropriate smile. "She sure is something. She's a…," That statement goes unfinished as he is promptly kicked under the table by Hazel.

"Ou, excuse me," said Lester, wiping the smile off his face and lowering the pitch of his voice again. "We heard about the dastardly burning of the home of Oliver and Shane O'Toole. It is arson, criminal activity pure and simple. I decided that I could help by doing my own investigation. You know that Dudley Curley liked to burn things. He was a rascal. He may be behind this," said Lester.

"Oh, no. I mean I'm sure Oliver has everything under control," said Rita, trying to avert disaster on top of a real disaster.

"Oh, yes. Oliver always has everything under control," responded Norman nervously. "You know Oliver, Mr. Control."

"Don't you worry about a thing. Every team has a captain. Every battle has a general. Every checkerboard has a square. I'm your man with the plan," declared Lester, standing and putting on his sunglasses.

"Oh no, thanks but we don't need a plan. We already planned," said Norman.

"Yes, we planned a baby shower and we thought Hazel might help," said Rita.

"Of course, they probably lost everything in the fire and I have a magazine. It has a little motor oil…or is it vegetable oil…anyway, it has a list of 100 things to do for a baby shower," continued Hazel.

"You mean you don't need me to do a major investigation?" Lester slumps back into his chair and removes his dark glasses.

"If you could just pass out invitations around the Post Office, save on postage," Rita politely requested of Hazel.

"I would be glad to help."

"Just don't do any thing illegal. I would hate to have to HOLD YOU for questioning," quipped Lester, looking at Hazel. "Get it."

"You bet I do." A blushing Hazel flirts right back.

"Let's do this, this baby shower, this raining of gifts," Lester exclaimed. "Wait! This mission has to have a name."

"That's ok. We don't need a name," said Norman.

"Every secret operation has a name," said Lester sounding dejected again.

"No really," said Norman.

"Operation Replace Burned Stuff," said Lester with great confidence and completely ignoring Norman.

"No. I've got it. We'll call it operation _We Deliver_ ," said Hazel.

Believing _We Deliver_ is a much better choice than _Replace Burned Stuff_ , Norman and Rita quickly agree. So the very unusual foursome with the help of Ramon set forth Operation _We Deliver_.

Rita and Norman return to the DLO inspired to work. Having some plan of action that would hopefully be practical, needed, and also uplifting for Shane and Oliver makes them feel less helpless. It also helps them have the motivation to focus on the delivery at hand – an expandable file.


	5. Chapter 5

After retrieving his coat from the DLO, Oliver prepared himself to hear the dreaded the truth that his carelessness is the cause of the fire. All morning he played out the scene of telling his dad that he is responsible for losing the historic O'Toole home. Deep down in places of which he never speaks he thinks he got what he deserved. After all he isn't really an O'Toole he tells himself. The idea that his birth cost Joe O'Toole so much pain becomes his consuming thought. He struggles with how he tired to make it up to this man by living in the house exactly as an O'Toole would, to prove his was worthy, and now look what happened. He is in knots of anger and guilt.

Once again pulling his car up to the rubble that was once his home, he is dumbfounded by what lies before him. Arriving at the site he sees three men are in conversation – not just the two whom he had expected

One of the men nods toward him indicating for him to wait.

"Just a moment Mr. O'Toole."

The three agents are very professional and efficient. The investigator has been on site all morning. Oliver waits while the three men confer. The insurance agent plugs information into his tablet and then the men join Oliver. The process seems so sterile.

"Mr. O'Toole, I am Austin Gregg, from the insurance company. We spoke on the phone. And this is Caleb Simms, fire marshal."

"Mr. O'Toole. I wish our department could have done more to save your house. It was just too late when we got the call."

"Thank you. I am certain you did everything you could. I should have thanked the department yesterday. I was not thinking." 

"Oh no. Just doing our job."

"Mr. O'Toole, I'm J.B. Clark. I am special investigator for arson with a division of the Colorado State Police. I am sorry about your home. We have a mutual friend, Special Agent Travers."

"Oh, Dale?"

"Yes, she asked me to expedite this case. I am glad to report that there is no sign of arson. As best as I can tell the fire began in the front upstairs room and moved to the attic. The burning roof collapsed into the house. Given the age of the house and the pine frame it went up in minutes. You are lucky no one was home, especially upstairs."

"Upstairs? Pine frame? I'm sorry I don't understand," questioned Oliver.

"Many of the older homes built in this time period were either all pine or the frame was at least. Basically the frame of your house was built with wood that makes for great kindling. It ignites quickly and burns at a high temperature – hot enough to cause larger heavier woods to burn. That's why lightning strikes, electrical fires can result in complete loss, especially if the owner doesn't immediately realize what is happening."

"You are certain that the fire was not related to the fireplace?" said Oliver, still questioning his culpability.

"Oh, no. It definitely began on the opposite side - that front upstairs room whatever that was."

"That room is…was to be the nursery. My wife is expecting our first child," said Oliver breaking into a brief smile that only affects half of his mouth.

"Have you had any electrical work done upstairs in that area recently?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact we have."

"On rare occasion older wiring meeting newer wiring can be the culprit. Sometimes a single exposed filament sparking older insulation or even a squirrel in the attic can create the problem."

"But it was not the fireplace?"

"Oh no. Wrong side of the house for one thing. Well congratulations on the baby. You sure are lucky that baby wasn't in that nursery. Your wife – running upstairs to try to get that baby – you could've lost more than this house. I'm going to pull a couple of guys in here this afternoon. I'll send a complete report. Again, Mr. O'Toole, I am sorry about your house."

"You sure are lucky…. Lucky? Luck is the religion of the lazy," thought Oliver. Providence had spared him the greatest loss. Nevertheless, he was torn between being grateful that the worst had not happened and his grief over what did happen.

"I'll file these reports. You should be free to clear the property by tomorrow. I have contact information on this sheet," said Mr. Gregg.

Once again Oliver is alone. The image of Shane running upstairs trying disparately to rescue their baby flashes through Oliver's mind and he his knees go weak as he leans against his car. He shakes his head in disbelief at the debris before him. It wasn't his carelessness with fire; however, he stills feels responsible for the house.

"I have to rebuild exactly as it was. My child has to take her first steps in this house as have generations of O'Tooles. I have to make this right."

If he can just get the house rebuilt everything will go back to normal. Everything will be all right again. Oliver blinks away the tears trying to form. He checks the time on his pocket watch and hurries to meet Shane at the doctor's office. They arrive simultaneously.

"Hi, you got here just in time," says Shane who greets him with a warm smile.

"I told you that I would be here," he replies in now his most prevalent mood – being on the defensive.

"I know," says Shane taking her escort by the arm, ignoring his mood. "How did your meeting go?"

"Fine. It is not a case of arson. Can we speak to this later?"

"Sure."

The middle of a waiting room full of expectant mothers was not exactly the location that Oliver wanted to discuss his plans. An hour later after learning that little O'Toole and mother are fine, Oliver takes a deep breath and prepares himself to share his news.

"First and foremost, I do not want you to worry. I will handle it."

"And what am I not be to worried about?"

"Rebuilding the house. I will get the property cleared; secure the architect and the building contractor. We will be comfortable at your former home until ours is complete. I know the baby won't be born there but…."

"Born there? I didn't have an at home birth in mind anyway," says Shane with a grin.

"Really," sighs Oliver, in no mood for jokes. "As I was saying, I am certain she – or he – will have her first birthday in my dad's house."

"Dad's house?" Shane ponders.

"Oliver you are wonderful at handling things but could we wait until after the baby is born to start all of this?"

"Wait? Why would one wait? He who hesitates is lost."

"Lost. We agree on that," mutters Shane.

Seeing that nothing good will come from arguing her point further, Shane shifts the topic to things requiring immediate attention.

"I made a list of things we will need just to make it through the next few days," Shane says.

"Certainly, if you will give it to me I will secure them for us."

"It isn't on paper. It's on my phone. I - could – text - it to you."

"Or we could go onto some Internet locale, order everything, and have Fed Ex deliver."

"Really!"

"No," Oliver declares firmly. Oliver pauses for moment rubbing his forehead. He checks his tone and attitude. "I'm sorry. I am afraid I was very rude."

He reaches for her hand and finds only compassion not condemnation in her eyes.

"This is hard," she says.

"I am certain together we will handle this," he replies, squeezing her hand. "Please allow me to be – to be your chauffeur."


	6. Chapter 6

While Oliver and Shane spent Tuesday trying to recover the pieces of their life, Norman and Rita spent the rest of the workday in mail recovery.

"OK, where were we? We have a file that belonged to Nana, sent to an Anna who was or is a teacher in Denver from a Tim in Norman, Oklahoma," said Rita.

"Other than knowing that Anna was a teacher we still don't have enough," said Norman.

"Let's keep reading," said Rita.

 _Days will come when people question why you would want to become a teacher. Well meaning adults will remind you that you could have gone into a profession that pays much better or garners more respect. They will tell you that you are too smart. "Why don't you become a lawyer or doctor?" One day some even ask, "Why do you keep teaching when you could retire?"_

 _When I retired from teaching for forty years, I was given a surprise party. The most delightful aspect was seeing a myriad of former students. Many brought letters to give me of how there lives were better or even changed by being in my class. As you prepare to graduate from college I prepare to graduate from this life. I…._

Norman choking on his words handed the letter for Rita to complete.

 _I wanted to leave you this folder of letters that I kept through the years. I hope that it will encourage you._

 _And then one night when you are exhausted from grading papers and feeling unappreciated and even ineffective, you may think on these cards, notes, and letters. May they remind you of what a legacy you are actually creating - a legacy made not with bricks and mortar or from financial gain - but by every choice you made that told a child that he mattered, that she could learn, that life could be better, that he too could leave a legacy._

 _With all my love,_

 _Nana_

"That was beautiful," whispered Rita. "We have got to find Anna."

"Apparently she is also a teacher," said Norman. "But we still don't have a name for Nana or a last name for Anna."

"We are going to have to open the file," said Rita.

Norman removed the elastic string that held the flap. Inside the file were dozens and dozens of notes, cards, and letters. None of them were in envelopes but they all seemed to have the same salutation: Dear Mrs. Swenson.

"They are thank you letters written by different people over a period of several – no - many years," said Norman. "Nana must be Mrs. Swenson."

"Wow, this lady really made a difference," said Rita. "Is there a first name?"

"I don't see one," said Norman. "But there is a reference to Thunderbird High School. I can check and see if I can find a phone number for the school and go from there. Maybe someone there still remembers Mrs. Swenson and can connect us with her family."

"Great idea," said Rita. "Norman, you really are good at this."

"We are a really good team," said Norman, leaning forward and stealing a quick kiss on the lips.

The only problem was Norman could not find any listing for Thunderbird High School – in Norman, Oklahoma or anywhere else. The POstables were stuck.

"Maybe we could try and reach some of the people who wrote the letters to her. Check their signatures and try listings in Norman, Oklahoma," said Rita.

"But we don't know where Thunderbird High School is located," said Norman. "And there are more than one hundred letters."

"Norman, Oklahoma – population 110,925. It is also 693 miles from Denver. We couldn't exactly just go driving around asking. What are you looking for now?" said Rita.

"Checking on a listing for a Tim Swenson in Norman," said Norman.

"Maybe there is an Anna Swenson in Denver? I'll check on that," said Rita, excitedly checking another directory.

An hour and several directories later the two POstables were stumped.

"No luck," said Norman.

"Me either," said Rita. "I'm tired."

"Let's call it a day. Maybe we will come up with something tomorrow," said Norman.

"Sounds good to me," said Rita. "I was sort of thinking…."

"We could go check on Oliver and Shane," the two said in unison.

Oliver and Shane were more than welcome to stay with Joe as long as they wished; however, Oliver insisted they not inconvenience Joe any further. Shane's house was available. When the two married they decided to rent the house fully furnished. That decision now seemed predestined. With the exception of linens and of course clothing and personal items, their immediate necessities would be met by simply moving into the house. It was also relatively convenient to work and to Denver's Mercy Hospital.

Oliver was quiet as the two relocated to temporary housing. They folded the towels and made the bed with the new, freshly washed linens. Shane tired to be sensitive to Oliver's deep feelings of loss while balancing it with reassurances that all would be well. More than once she caught herself about to refer to something they no longer owned and choked on her words or tried to quickly shift to another topic. Her own personal items that were lost she would grieve for in private. The sadness in Oliver's eyes told her that his own grief was all that he could bear. She would bear hers alone by the grace of God. She was certain that this was about more than things built with hands. Whatever it was, he was too busy trying to protect and support his wife and unborn child to share his true anguish with her.

"Oliver, have you talked to your dad today?" asked Shane.

"Not since this morning," said Oliver.

"I think he called you," said Shane.

"He may have. We have much to accomplish. I will speak with him soon," said Oliver.

The two continue working in silence. As they put away a few clothing items they had purchased the doorbell rings. The couple welcomes the distraction and both go to the door. The sight of smiling friends offers a welcomed reprieve.

"We come bearing pie," said Rita.

"Thank you," said Oliver. "I'm afraid our cupboard is still a bit bare."

"I can go to the grocery store for you. I can drive you know," said Norman.

"We do not want to inconvenience you," said Oliver.

"Actually, after we have pie maybe you and Oliver could go to the store," said Shane. "That would be very helpful."

"Shane really, I…." began Oliver. But one look into her blue eyes and he could say nothing but yes.

"Rita, let's warm this pie in the oven," said Shane.

"Glad to help," said Rita. "I wanted to bake the pie myself but Norman insisted that we should bring it tonight so I had to buy one from the bakery. But I can bake one when the baby is born. You know me – bake, bake, bake."

"Rita, you and Norman have done enough," said Oliver.

"Well, it wouldn't be any trouble," said Rita.

"Oh boy," said Norman, looking terrified at the thought of Rita baking.

Thinking it was best to change the subject, Shane went to the safer topic of the DLO.

"What's happening at work?"

"Well, we have this package from a Tim in Norman, Oklahoma," said Norman.

"Norman? Really?" said Shane with a chuckle.

"Yes. It is intended for an Anna in Denver," said Norman.

"And how many Anna's do we have?" asked Shane.

"Too many" replied Rita. "The package was actually from her grandmother, a Mrs. Swenson who taught school at Thunderbird High. Only we can't find a listing for the school anywhere."

"Oliver, would you give me my laptop," said Shane. "It's on the table beside you."

"Ah, no, we didn't come for that," said Norman.

Oliver didn't move.

"I can waddle over and get it myself," said Shane.

Oliver rolled his eyes at his wife's word choice just as the timer buzzed in the kitchen signaling that the pie was ready to eat.

"The pie is hot. Let Norman and me get it. You two sit here," said Rita.

As they walked into the kitchen Oliver stood to get the laptop.

"I will get your laptop since I know your curiosity will not be satisfied until I do," said Oliver.

"And you do not waddle," he whispered as he handed her the device.

"Thank you sweetheart. But I do," Shane whispered in return.

"I'm searching for Thunderbird High School," Shane called loudly enough for Norman and Rita to hear in the kitchen.

By the time Rita and Norman returned with four plated pieces of apple pan pie Shane had some of the information they needed.

"You're right. It doesn't exist – anymore. It was closed as part of a consolidation of outlying schools. I'll search for the district office number. HR should still be able to tell you something about Mrs. Swenson."

Shane acquired the needed phone number and sent the contact information to Rita's cell. The foursome thought this could be a major breakthrough in the case. That evening they talked about Tommy - the new guy who brought packages to the DLO, baby names that no one should use, and the bitter cold weather. The fire and its consequences were not mentioned. Actually, Oliver did not talk much at all. Finally, Shane returned to the subject of a trip to the grocery store.

"Norman, we really could use a grocery store run. Do you mind going with Oliver?"

"Shane," said a perturbed Oliver.

"Here I will make a quick list and send it to your phone," said Shane.

"Shane," said Oliver, exhaling in frustration.

"There, all done," Shane said, completely ignoring her husband's disapproval.

"Oliver I don't mind, if you…don't…mind," said Norman.

Feigning innocence, Shane looked at Oliver and shrugged.

"Take your time, check the sales," said Shane.

"Putter," interrupted Oliver, raising his eyebrows. "Norman, we are going to have some man time."

"I thought we were going to get groceries," said Norman.

"Check your phone," said Oliver, following Norman out the door.

Norman checked his phone. He found a grocery list consisting of only ham, rye bread, and chips. The next text explained man time. "Worried about Oliver. Hope he will talk to you."

Nervously putting the phone back in his pocket, Norman said, "Maybe we should walk to the store."

"Norman, it is freezing," said Oliver.

"Well there is that," said Norman. "It's just that Shane…

"I know it's all right Norman. I'll drive. Get in."

The two men drive to the store and sit in parking lot.

"Oliver, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry about the house. We know how much that house meant to you and with Shane being pregnant and all. I'm sure it makes matters more stressful."

"It wasn't just a house," said Oliver. "It was my family's legacy. Why can't people understand that?"

"I never had that legacy. I never lived in the same place more than 2 years."

"I am so sorry. I should not have said that."

The men sit in silence.

"I just had everything planned. Our child would learn to walk in the same house as my grandfather and his father. We would have all of these memories. I could give this legacy not only to my children also to my dad. And now somehow my living in that house has taken away his ancestral home too."

"too? You are the most cautious man I know. You aren't to blame," said Norman.

"Perhaps not directly," said Oliver.

"You would never…" said Norman.

"Norman, I got the report from the investigator," said Oliver. "Apparently the fire started in the nursery area. It appears to be electrical. We just had the room rewired. We were – changing things. If Shane and the baby had been there, they may have perished."

"Have you told Shane?" said Norman.

"No," said Oliver. "I just told her that nothing was suspicious and the full report would be available later, that we had nothing for which to be concerned. I just could not tell her that the fire started…." Oliver couldn't finish the sentence.

"Oliver, I've never really had a dad and I haven't been a dad – well, not yet anyway, but somehow I think when you hold that baby in your arms, you're going to know _the most important thing any child would inherit comes from your heart, not your house._ But for right now, I'm going to buy ham, rye bread, and chips," said Norman."

Norman exits the car leaving Oliver to wrestle with his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

"Good morning," said Shane as Norman and Rita entered the DLO.

"Shane, you're here," said Rita, surprised to find her friend and colleague back at work so soon.

And there she was in a pair of plain black slacks, a navy blue maternity top, and low heel ankle boots. With only a month left in her pregnancy Shane purchased as little as possible to replace her destroyed wardrobe. Oliver replaced a closet of suits with one navy blazer, a pair of gray dress slacks and one pair of brown. "Just enough to get by for now" had become their motto.

"Yes, we are," said Shane, nodding toward Oliver's desk. "I'm fine. The baby is fine. And I have a package that I want to find and get to Washington, D.C. before this baby is old enough to deliver it himself."

"Or herself," said Oliver, passing Shane's desk. "I am on my way…."

"To a meeting," the three other POstables groaned in unison.

"Precisely," said Oliver. Oliver stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. "Perhaps you three could decide on where we might have lunch while I am gone."

Rita continued sorting, resealing, labeling, and sending, lost letters on their way. Shane had her head in computer searching every way possible for an item neither whose contents nor description she had exact knowledge.

"I've got it!" said Shane.

"You found the package?" said Rita. "That's great."

"Where was it?" asked Norman.

"The Ochopee Post Office, Ochopee, Florida," said Shane. "We aren't sure how or why it arrived there. D.C. can take it from here. I'll send the notification."

"Ochopee, Florida, the smallest post office in the United States, located 3 miles east of the intersection of US 41 and State Road 29," said Rita."

"Rita, you are amazing," said Shane, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Oh it's nothing. I read it for the Miss Special Delivery pageant," Rita replied.

Shane continued to type and shook her hear thinking, "and how many years ago was that."

"I just got off the phone with the Norman school district," said Norman. "I have good news and bad news. They confirmed the newspaper article but the school closed two years ago they have not updated the records of its retired employees. We are welcome to go through file boxes for written copies they keep in storage. However, that won't assure us of getting the name if Mrs. Swenson retired more than ten years ago because of flood damage or was it a tornado or was it a flood that occurred because of tornado."

"Norman," interrupted Shane.

"That's the bad news."

"And the good news is…" says Shane.

"But here's the good news. The secretary said that she thought the assistant school superintendent graduated from Thunderbird High School."

"And…," interjects Shane.

Guess who was taught by Mrs. Swenson?" said Norman

"The assistant school superintendent," said Rita.

"Yes! All she could tell me was her name, Gretta Swenson and that she died. But we already knew that part. I mean the part about her being dead not her name."

"I'll run a search for Gretta Swenson. We should get an obituary," said Shane.

A minute later Shane was ready with more information.

"Here it is. Mrs. Gretta Swenson wife of the late Carson Thomas Swenson, Sr.…survived by three children Ava Swenson Fields, Barbara Swenson Hartley, Carson Thomas Swenson, Jr. and seven grandchildren."

"Does it list the grandchildren?" asked Norman.

"No but if Anna hasn't married then there may be only 3 possibilities – Fields, Hartley, or Swenson," said Shane.

"We already eliminated Swenson. She may be a Fields or a Hartley," said Rita.

"I'll run it," said Shane.

Shane began rapidly typing on her keyboard. Again, success was only a few minutes away.

"And guess who teaches at West Denver High School," said Shane.

"Anna Fields? Anna Hartley?" said Norman.

"Anna Fields," said Shane. "We may have found her. Whoa."

"Are you alright?" asked Rita.

"Yes, I am just giving birth to the next kicker for the Denver Bronco's," said Shane. "I think I'll stand for a while."

Oliver returned from his meeting to doubly good news. Shane had found the package for which he would just as soon she had not been asked to search and they have a lead on delivery for the file. He also returned bringing lunch for the foursome.

"I thought we were going out," said Shane.

"You and I have missed work and I thought this would be more efficient," said Oliver.

"It has nothing to do with the blustery weather, snow flurries, and the fact that I am pregnant?" teased Shane.

"Perhaps," said Oliver. "Which answer would you prefer?"

The day was cold, damp, and very windy. The four actually enjoyed having lunch inside the DLO. They had created a cozy break area in their reassigned office that the other three POstables found functional and pleasant. Oliver still referred to the relocation as their Babylonian exile. Nevertheless, for Shane and Oliver it was good to be back at work and have some shred of normalcy in their lives.

After lunch Shane assisted Rita with searches. Norman worked in the lab. Oliver placed phone calls.

"I must go out," said Oliver, putting on his topcoat.

"What?" said Shane. "I thought you and Norman might deliver the file."

"I have to sign for the property to be cleared," said Oliver.

"Already? We haven't had a chance to see if anything can be saved," said Shane.

"I know but the insurance agent knows a guy," began Oliver.

"Knows a guy? A guy who?" questioned Shane.

"He is a sifter or a sorter or some expert who goes through the debris, saves everything he can for the owner and then clears the property," said Oliver.

"Oliver if you are certain. I just don't want you pushed or rushed into something," said Shane.

"The sooner that property is cleared the sooner we can rebuild," said Oliver.

The last thing the expectant mom wanted to think about was building a house.

"Have you talked to your dad?" asked Shane.

"Not yet. Shane, I really must go," said Oliver, perturbed over the slightest delay.

"But he's…trying….to reach….you," said Shane, her voice trailing off as Oliver rushed out the door.

Oliver met "the guy." His name was Mr. Henderson. Mr. Henderson was a tall, thin man whose face and hands were weather and work-worn. He had a deep voice and the kindest eyes. He had seen destruction from fire and flood and the hurt that people experienced in times of loss and felt compassion for them. He too saw himself as a bit of a redeemer and restorer of lost objects. The O'Toole property would be no different.

"Mr. O'Toole we will come in and remove the larger pieces first. Then we will go through the burned pieces and even the ashes. Anything we find we will place in the blue bin and go over it with you. I have a special box for small items. Everything else goes in a green bin and is hauled off. I'll be honest. In a fire like this, we probably won't need the blue bin. I'm sorry Mr. O'Toole," said Mr. Henderson.

"I understand," said Oliver. "I want the property cleared as soon as possible. I plan to rebuild exactly as it was."

The two men shook hands and Oliver drove away. However, he didn't return to the DLO. Instead the blue jag parked in front of the National Registry for Historic Homes.

Later that evening Oliver enthusiastically revealed to Shane his big surprise.

"I made an excellent discovery today," said Oliver, handing Shane a large cardboard tube. "Go ahead. Open it."

Shane twisted and pulled the top of the tube and slid out two large sheets of paper - blueprints clearly labeled "National Register of Historic Homes O'Toole Property."

"They had them. The National Register of Historic Homes. I made a visit there this afternoon and they have the blueprints of the house. Unfortunately they do not include the backroom. It must have been added. Nevertheless, I took them to an architect who specializes in restoration of historic homes and he will take on the project."

"So that's where you were all afternoon," Shane says quietly, studying the plans before her.

"Oliver don't you think we should wait?" says Shane.

"Wait for what?" replies Oliver, clearly dumbfounded.

"This has been a great shock and the baby is due in a month," says Shane.

"Yes, that's why we must hurry. Don't you see our baby's first Thanksgiving, first Christmas must be in this house."

"Oliver as long as we are together does it matter the house?"

"How can you say such? I thought you liked this house," said Oliver.

"I did like the house," said Shane. "I am in no condition. No. We are in no condition to rush into this. Oliver, I know how much that house meant to you. But we're fine here for a while. Aren't we?"

Oliver looked quite resolute in his decision and did not respond; internally he was conflicted. As she reached toward him to cup his face in her hand, Oliver drew back. His recoil was not unnoticed. His action stung but Shane did not turn away.

"I'm just asking you to do two things – slow down and talk to your dad," said Shane firmly.

"Why do you keep telling me to talk to Dad?" Oliver said, raising his voice and throwing his hands in the air. "I called him after I found the blueprints. We are meeting for lunch tomorrow. I told him I had a surprise for him. I'm going to show him that I found the blueprints from the original house and let him know….. that…. I…can…."

His anger and pain and fear are too much for Shane. More than being hurt by him she hurts for him. He is lost and confused in his grief. She walks toward Oliver and takes his hand and places it on her belly. He could feel the baby shifting within her through her pajamas.

"Feel your rolie polie child," said Shane softly. "This baby will be fine no matter where he lives as long as you are there."

"She lives, no matter where she lives," Oliver mutters, quietly exhaling, the tension leaving his shoulders.

"She, of course," said Shane, smiling up at Oliver and going on the tiptoes of her bare feet to better wrap her arms around him. "I love you so much," she whispers in his ear as she massages his tight shoulders.

"And I love you," said Oliver. He is torn between holding onto his anger and holding onto her. He swallows the lump in his throat. Searching her face for his own peace he lightly brings his lips to hers. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against her forehead. Shane's actions lessen the strife between them. He can feel the baby move slightly again as he holds her in his arms. Continuing with eyes closed he feels her bare skin under the caress of his fingertips. There is no lost ancestral home there is only the smell of her shampoo, the smoothness of her skin, and a longing for more.

For now, for this moment he sets aside his grief, his anger, and even some fear and loses himself in his helpmate's tender touch. He is emotionally drained and she is his wellspring. Tonight as they dance she leads and he is glad to follow.

For the first time since the fire he sleeps. In part he sleeps because he is too exhausted to stay awake. He sleeps well because tonight he allows himself to rest in her love.


	8. Chapter 8

Shane wakes Thursday morning knowing that in his heart Oliver is still determined to rebuild the exact same house as quickly as possible. She hopes that he will at least hear what his dad has to tell him and will slow down.

Oliver does meet Joe for lunch at Bistro Ramon. He brushes past Ramon without acknowledging either the proprietor's efforts to offer a word of condolence or encouragement and slides into the booth with his dad.

"Hi, glad you could come. I just ordered coffee for both of us and a hot ham and cheese on rye. I hope that's ok?"

"Ah certainly. That's fine," said Oliver.

"How's Shane?" asked Joe.

"She's fine," said Oliver.

The men make small talk about the weather and the basketball game Joe watched last night. They talk about Oliver going to a game with him one day. Then the tone at the table begins to shift.

"Oliver, I have something I have been wanting to tell you, especially since the fire," said Joe.

"That's good but first I have surprise. I have hired a Mr. Henderson who is already clearing the property as we speak. And more importantly, the blueprints for the house were on file at the National Registry for Historic homes and I purchased an exact copy," said Oliver.

Joe doesn't really respond. He just looks at the tube that Oliver hands to him like a soldier handing his king the spoils of war.

"Son, that's nice. Is this what you and Shane want?" said Joe.

"Of course. I'm going to make it all right. It won't be the same house as before but it will be the same house – as before. You can come and we will do everything just as O'Tooles for generations did," said Oliver.

"Oliver, we can do those things in a different home if you want," said Joe. "As long as we're together."

"This is the O'Toole home. I thought you would be pleased. I'm going to make this up to you," said Oliver as he stands. "You'll see dad. I have to get back to the office."

"Oliver, wait," said Joe.

"I'm sorry but I must get back to work. You will see. I will not let you down again."

Before Joe can say anything, Oliver bolts from the restaurant. He enters the DLO more like a bull in a china shop than like himself.

"How was lunch with your dad?" Shane said, almost afraid to ask.

"Fine" is Oliver's one word response.

Oliver stops in the middle of the DLO and rubs his forehead.

"Norman, would you like to go with me to deliver the file to Miss Fields?" asked Oliver.

"Sure," said Norman. "You don't want to take Shane?"

"Well the weather, you know," said Oliver, grumbling.

"Of course," said Norman. "I'll get my coat."

"Sorry Norman," Shane mouths to him as he passed by her desk.

"Do you know where the school is?" asked Norman.

"I do not," said Oliver. "But I have a map of Denver in the glove compartment."

"Shouldn't we get directions before we drive off?" asked Norman.

"Norman, it is West Denver High School hence one should presume that one can at least begin to drive in the direction of the setting sun," Oliver replies exasperated with everyone's failure to see the obvious.

"You know that smart phone you carry since Shane is pregnant can give us the exact directions," said Norman, hurrying to catch Oliver.

Oliver sighing, "A good map is sufficient. Why cannot people realize the value of tradition? It connects one generation to another. It makes us who we are."

"Are we still talking about finding West Denver High School or are we talking about something else?" said Norman.

Whatever they were discussing, it should have been West Denver High School. West Denver High was northeast of Denver. West was the last name of a prominent former educator in Denver and not a reference to a direction. Further, it was a new school on a new street that wasn't on Oliver's antiquated map. Between Oliver's refusal to use the global positioning system on his phone and his refusal to ask for directions it took the men two hours to find a school that was 45 minutes from the DLO in reasonable traffic.

By the time they arrive, West Denver High School is closed for the day. Then they are caught in 5:00 traffic and going nowhere fast. It is after six before they arrive back at the DLO. The clock strikes seven before Oliver finally gets home.

Fortunately for Shane, Joe came by the DLO late that afternoon in hopes of actually having a conversation with his son. Shane was tired and more than ready to go home. Joe was more than happy to deliver his daughter-in-law to her house and spend some time with her. The two keep each other company in the kitchen while she warms some leftover soup.

"Joe, he is determined to rebuild the house and to do it right now," says Shane.

"He told me," says Joe. "How do you feel about that?"

"I'm about to have a baby. The last thing I want to think about is building a house. He seems to have completely forgotten that. He has gone from being overly prepared to not realizing we don't even have a crib. I am worried about him. I've never seen him like this."

"I'll try to talk to him tonight. You know Oliver. He'll come around."

Shane smiles at Joe knowing that he is as worried about Oliver as she is. He just doesn't want her to worry. He is sensitive to her fatigue and to the added stress she is under.

"Why don't you go ahead and eat? Get some rest. I'll wait for Oliver."

"You don't mind?"

"Not at all. It might give us a chance to…talk a little."

Shane welcomes the offer, finishes dinner, and goes to lie down.

Undeterred by the cold, Joe waits outside in the porch swing for his son. He doesn't want their conversation to disturb his resting daughter-in-law. Even if Oliver isn't interested in his proposal at least he should be able to get him to slow the pace for Shane's sake.

Oliver spots his dad before he gets his car parked. He hurries up the steps already guarded and defensive.

"Thank you for bringing Shane home. We were running a little late. I apologize for any inconvenience," says Oliver.

"No problem. Glad to do it. I thought we might have a chance to talk."

Joe stands to meet Oliver on the steps.

"Why don't we sit down," says Joe, leading Oliver to sit with him on the swing.

"Is Shane alright?"

"Yes, she is resting. I have some news I wanted to tell you at lunch but you were in a hurry."

"I had work," replies Oliver defensively.

"I understand. I wanted you to know that I bought some land between Denver and the Kelser farm. It is actually closer from there to here than I was before. It is just outside of Denver. Bill and I have become good friends especially since Sunny died and I have really taken to gardening."

"Fine. I am certain you will enjoy it," replies Oliver essentially dismissing the news. "Dad, did you see the plans I gave you? I know there are inadequate for construction today but I am certain the architect I hired can…"

Joes interrupts before his son can continue, "Oliver, I bought a good bit of land."

'That's fine. I talked to a man at the National Register for Historic homes. He is going to help me find doors, hinges, everything I will need to rebuild."

"Son, don't you want to slow down. You have a baby on the…."

Tension rises quickly in Oliver and so does his voice, "I know that. And that baby is going to take her first steps in that house – and her first Thanksgiving, and her first Christmas – just like generations of O'Tooles. I'm going to make this right."

"You have nothing to make right. You didn't do anything wrong. You are the most, the most responsible, cautious man I know. Even if in any way you were responsible, it would not matter to me," Joe pleads only for Oliver to interrupt him.

"There are things I can never make right but I can do this."

Joe is baffled by the tension in Oliver's voice and the content of the conversation. "What are you talking about Oliver?"

"You know perfectly well," says Oliver.

Silence falls like a wall.

"Let it go Oliver," says Joe.

"I can't. I think it is gone. I think I have it figured out. I live in the O'Toole house. I maintain the legacy. Everything is fine. I'm doing what an O'Toole would do. Then it returns."

"Returns?"

Oliver draws back from his dad. His eyes cast downward as some painful memory plays in his mind. He looks lost. He struggles to begin his tale that Joe waits patiently to hear.

"When we first told people that Shane was expecting people asked…."

Oliver recounts to Joe an exchange that happened months earlier just outside the DLO. The words and the images are seared not so much into his mind as into his heart leaving an unintentional scar. He can hear Hazel as if she were standing in front of him now.

"You must be so excited," said Hazel. "When is the baby due?"

"Early April," replied Shane.

"Boy or girl?" pried Hazel.

"We are not going to ascertain the gender until the baby is born," Oliver replied, uncomfortable with Hazel's familiarity.

"Oh maybe you'll have a little girl with blonde hair just like Shane or maybe you'll have a boy with eyes just like Oliver's dad," said Hazel with a giggle.

The seemingly innocent statement struck Oliver like a boxer throwing a knockout punch.

"And there it was. Eyes like my dad," Oliver repeats.

He pauses. Then looking at Joe he asks a question for which he fears the answer.

"I don't look my mother. Do I?"

A silence built of pain and compassion falls between the two men.

"You look like my son," responds Joe.

Joe says the exact right words but Oliver is deaf to them.

"I was going to make it up to you," Oliver says looking up and shaking his head. "I had it all figured out."

"Ridiculous," Oliver mumbles as he stands, walks to the porch railing, and turns away from his dad. Speaking more quietly he continues. "This baby was going to be raised in the O'Toole house following the traditions told by Grandfather. You would be there, seeing that I am raising this child properly. I was going to have the doctor sign the birth certificate with Grandfather's pen. I lost that too. I lost the pen. But I can rebuild. I can do this," declares Oliver turning back to face his dad. His eyes are red as he fights tears. "I can make her your grandchild. You will see. We can continue the legacy in the O'Toole home. I can make it right dad."

The argument rips at Joe. A wounded but determined Joe stands to face Oliver. "I far as I'm concerned this baby already is my grandchild."

Oliver is frozen. He has no reply.

"The one truly good thing that ever came from my marriage to your mother was you. When I look at you all I see – all I have ever seen is my son. The only thing I've ever wanted…." Joe pauses to swallow and looks away for a moment. "The only thing I ever wanted was for you to see me as your dad. Nothing – absolutely nothing has any bearing on that."

Joe says no more. He walks to his truck and drives away. Oliver stands motionless. In the heat and pain of the moment Shane standing with porch door ajar goes unnoticed.

"Oliver," says Shane.

"Well, I talked to my dad."

"I heard."

"I'm sorry. It's cold. You should go inside."

"No. No. No. You have an arm don't you? Just put it around me and sit on the swing," said Shane.

"Shane, it is cold. You are pregnant."

"Oliver I know that. I am well aware of the fact that I am pregnant," Shane replied shaking her head. "That was some - conversation."

"Yes, dad - just misunderstood"

"I'm not sure your dad misunderstood. Did you ever consider that your dad didn't tell you about Harvey because he was afraid of losing you – because he was afraid that you wouldn't see him as your father - because he didn't want conversations like that one."

"Shane please."

"Oh no. I'm going to tell you something. I want you to listen. You know that land your dad bought? He bought 50 acres. There is a small house already on it – a fixer upper of sorts. He's going to live there. He has been trying to tell you."

"So. That's fine. He knows that's fine with me. I don't know why everybody is concerned about some land when the O'Toole ancestral home is burned to the ground."

"No Oliver. Your father has been trying to ask you - if you – his son - his only son - would like to build on the land near him – build a life along side him. That's what he has been trying to tell you. He isn't interested in you making up for something neither of you had any control over. I think he is interested in making up for lost time together."

Shane pauses. Oliver looks away.

"It's been a long day. Your dinner is in the kitchen. I'm going to bed. Maybe you need to contemplate this news without me," says Shane.

Shane squeezes his hand and walks into the house.

Oliver sits on the swing and runs his fingers through his hair. What had happened? What were they all thinking? Not rebuild the legacy? He waits in the swing long enough to make sure Shane is in bed. He really doesn't want to face her any more right now. Finally he goes into the kitchen and ladles himself a bowl of soup. He throws more of it in the trash than he eats.

Not really interested in food, he opens the tube and unrolls the plans on the kitchen table. His memories take from room to room – stories told by his grandfather. He starts to make a list of questions for the architect but somehow it feels futile. The words that echo the most are those spoken by his dad, "I thought I already was." He hurt Joe and he knew it.

Finally he puts on his coat and goes for a walk. Oliver's feet take him directly to the now former site of the O'Toole home. The contractor has done a great job clearing the property – a little too good of a job. This time he doesn't even have steps left to sit upon. He walks around what once was his well manicured yard and kicks at dirt clods and the little bit of snow that clings in denial of the spring that will come.

There is a mound of dirt piled to the side of the property and like Job, Oliver climbs the mound and sits down on the ash heap.

"You know who you are. You know where to go?" Words spoken to him long ago come to him again. Finally, he prays.

Late into the night he returns home. He tries to be as quiet as possible and not disturb Shane. He slips into bed. She stirs. He gently strokes just a few strands of her hair that trail on the pillowcase.

"Good night, my love," he whispers.

Shane, lying on her side with her back to him takes her foot, finds his leg and wraps her ankle around his. "I love you," she murmurs back to him.


	9. Chapter 9

Words. Oliver O'Toole was a man who valued the written word – he valued words in general. Words carried meaning and with them the ability to transform lives. The words Oliver spoke and heard on Thursday night permeated his heart and his mind. He had spent the night wrestling like Jacob with those words and had woken a more aware and open man. Any further contemplation of truth this morning was interrupted by the sound of the telephone. He hadn't finished his first cup of coffee before the one landline phone in the house rang on the counter beside him.

"Hello?"

"Mr. O'Toole this is Mr. Henderson. We have almost finished clearing the property. What do you want us to do about this root cellar?"

"I beg your pardon," said Oliver.

"I wasn't sure if you knew or not. It was underneath the back porch. Dirt covered what looked like the door. We tore it open clearing the ground. We can fill it in if you want. Mr. O'Toole, are you there?"

"Yes, of course have you checked the contents?"

"Of the cellar?"

"Yes."

"No but we can. It looks like there are steps going down into it. I just don't think it is safe to leave that big hole in the ground. There probably isn't anything in there but we'll check. It seems like it's been covered up a long time."

"I understand. I will certainly pay whatever additional cost you may incur. Oh, and Mr. Henderson – there is no rush."

Shane walks into the kitchen just as the call is completed.

"Someone is calling early," she says.

"It was Mr. Henderson. They found a hole, some type of storage cellar underneath the area where the kitchen was located. They are going to fill it in. We don't want any more calamity on the property."

"No, we don't want anyone getting hurt. Have you thought any more about slowing down after we get the property cleared?"

"Yes but can we not discuss that right now?" said Oliver.

"Can we still hold hands?" asks Shane, extending her hand to her husband.

"Always," Oliver responds, taking her hand in his. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better, for some reason I can breathe easier," says Shane.

"Well that is good," replied Oliver, rubbing the side of her arm then embracing her with a smile.

He doesn't have to tell her. He is more relaxed this morning. He is more himself.

Friday morning at the DLO was quiet, rather routine. Oliver and Norman decide to deliver the file to Anna Fields after lunch. This time they will have the directions and it should only take 45 minutes to arrive.

The new high school is state of the art. After buzzing into the building, getting to the main office, and producing identification the men are escorted to the freshmen wing.

"Greg, sit back down please. Remember the bell doesn't dismiss you. I do. Don't forget your reading assignment. Your projects are due Monday. Now class is dismissed," said Miss Fields.

Just as the ninth grade English class files out the door their principal enters the room.

"Miss Fields, I still don't have your contract for next year. I have to have it today by 4:00. I know it has been a tough year but you know we don't want to lose you," said Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you. I understand. It's just been a struggle," said the young teacher.

"You can sign it now and I can take it with me," said the principal with a hopeful smile.

"Not yet," said Miss Fields. "I will come by your office today by 4:00 one way or the other."

"Very well," said the principal, leaving the room feeling discouraged.

Miss Fields sits at her desk staring at the contract. She picks up the picture in front of her. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be a teacher after all. Maybe she doesn't have what it takes. She could easily get a job with a publishing company and make more money.

"Excuse me. Are you Anna Fields?"

"Yes I am. May I help you?"

I'm Oliver O'Toole and this is my colleague Norman Dorman and we are from the United States Post Office and we believe we have a package for you. I'm afraid that it was damaged in the mail, obscuring the intended address….

"The file! You found it," exclaims Miss Fields.

"We had to open it and read some of the letters in order to determine the delivery," said Norman.

"Tim told me he mailed it. But we couldn't figure out what happened," said Anna. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Your grandmother was certainly a beloved instructor," said Oliver.

"She must have really made an impact on many lives," said Norman.

"Oh you have no idea," said Ann. "This is a picture of my nana holding me when I was a baby."

The young teacher picks up the framed picture from her desk and hands it to Oliver. The photo features a blue-eyed blonde grandmother holding a beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed baby with the most beautiful olive complexion.

"What's wrong? You don't see the family resemblance? After all, Nana always said that I was the grandchild most like her," said Anna with a laugh.

"She mentioned that in her letter to you. If you will take a moment to read it in order for us to verify you are indeed the intended recipient," said Oliver.

The young woman takes the letter and begins to read. Tears well. Taking a tissue from her desk she wipes her eyes.

"Your timing is perfect. I am the intended recipient. I was just about to quit," said Anna.

"If you are in a hurry to leave, we just need you to sign this receipt," said Norman.

"Oh no. I don't mean quit for the day. I mean quit all together," says Anna. "If you have a moment, I'll tell you my story."

"Of course. We would be honored," Oliver replies politely.

"I was adopted. My biological mother was young and alone and felt she couldn't raise me. My nana had been her teacher. Before I was born she asked my nana to take me. Nana said that she was too old but that she knew the perfect couple – her daughter and her husband. That is how I became Anna Louise Fields, the daughter of Ava Swenson Fields, the granddaughter of Greta Louise Swenson. I grew up next door to Nana."

"And you have become a teacher, a noble profession." said Oliver.

"Yes, my grandmother was a teacher and my mother is a teacher and I am a teacher. I don't know if I will ever impact my students the way Nana did, and my mother does, but I pray so."

"I'm sure you already are," said Norman.

"Thank you for delivering this file. It may not seem like much. It's not a huge sum of money or a big house. It's…," began Anna.

"It is a reminder of how deeply you were loved, of being a part of a real family. Besides you are the rightful heir. Nana chose so," interrupted Norman.

"Yes, and I needed that affirmation today," said Anna. "Thank you again. If you will excuse me, I have a contract to sign before 4:00."

"Certainly," said Oliver.

Anna signs for the delivery and the two POstables leave the school. Anna's words "can't you see the resemblance" bounce off of "rightful heir" in Oliver's head.

On the drive back to the DLO, Oliver is quiet. The silence is interrupted by Norman who suggests the four POstables have dinner together at The Mailbox Grille. The subterfuge has begun.

"Oliver, Rita said that she and Shane would like to eat dinner at the Grill tonight and that we should just meet them there. They will wait for us in the parking lot," says Norman.

Norman has to turn his face away from Oliver and look out the window to hide his big grin. Lying is not his strong suit.

"That is odd. Shane put chicken and vegetables on this morning before we left for work," Oliver replies.

"Well she must have changed her mind," said Norman, nervously. "You know being pregnant can do that. Make you change your mind that is."

None of this made sense to Oliver but he would be very accommodating especially given all they had been through in the last week.

Meanwhile, Rita had some lying of her own to do.

"Shane, I just talked to Norman. He said that he and Oliver made their delivery and that we should meet them outside the Grill for dinner tonight," said Rita.

"That's funny," said Shane. "I put dinner in the crockpot before we left for work this morning."

"I guess Oliver forgot," said Rita, pushing up her glasses.

"Oh well, we can eat it tomorrow," said Shane.

Rita and Shane bundled in coats, scarfs, and gloves meet their husbands outside the Grille. Rita and Norman drop back insisting the two go in before them.

"SURPRISE!"

The Mailbox Grille is filled with smiling postal workers. From the ceiling hang pink and blue balloons and a banner that reads "WE DELIVER."

"What? Rita, Norman?" exclaimed a shocked Shane.

"We wanted to so something for you after the fire," said Rita.

"This is so…," said Shane.

'Thoughtful, this is so thoughtful," said Oliver.

From the back of crowd pushes the incorrigible Lester Kimcicle.

"Come right here little missy and take a load off. You just sit right down and open all these presents, this raining of gifts, this shower of blessings," says Lester, a tear of triumphant pride fills one eye.

The crowd parts revealing a rocking chair and a crib. The crib is exactly like the one they lost in fire and the rocker is a close replica to the antique they had refurnished. The crib is filled to overflowing with gifts. Shane and Oliver open box after box – most of which were disposable diapers. By the time she opened the 9th box of Pampers or Huggies or the local big box store brand Shane is fidgeting and little thirsty.

"May I get you something to drink?" asks Oliver, taking note of his wife's discomfort as she continues to shift in the rocker.

"No, I think I need to stand up or move around a little," said Shane.

Just as Shane stands Lester brings yet another gift that is clearly another wrapped box of diapers.

"No, no, no, no, no," declared a wide-eyed Shane.

"I know you got a lot of diapers but you don't have to act like that," says Lester.

"Oliver, I think we better get to the hospital," said Shane.

"But you aren't due for another 21 days," replies Oliver.

"This baby doesn't seem to know that," Shane says.

"I've got this little filly," declared Lester. "ALL RIGHT, EVERY BODY STEP BACK WOMAN IN LABOR COMING THROUGH. STEP BACK THE FOAL IS ABOUT TO DROP.

"Lester, this is highly unnecessary," said Oliver, very embarrassed by the public spectacle.

"Ignore him. Ignore him. Get the car," said Shane, through fritted smile.

"Shane, I read a book on childbirth and it is highly unlikely that a first born will come quickly. I am certain that we have an abundance of time," said Oliver calmly.

"This baby can't read," said Shane, grabbing Oliver by the arm and pulling him directly to her by his tie. "My water just broke. Consider this baby coming express mail so unless you want our divine delivery to occur at the Mailbox Grille we better go."

Convinced by the latest disclosure Oliver rushes out the door to the parking garage to retrieve the car. Arriving at the car slightly winded he reaches in his pants pocket for the keys. No keys. He pats the pockets of his suit coat. No keys. He checks his pants pockets again. Still no keys.

"Oh dear heavenly Father, where are my keys?"

"Oliver, Oliver!"

He hears a voice calling his name. Suddenly Norman comes running up the ramp in the parking garage with Oliver's topcoat and car keys in his hands.

Between gasping for air Norman manages to explain.

"You…left…your…coat…with…your keys…in.. the pocket."

"Oh thank you, Norman," he replies, giving Norman a quick hug of appreciation. Oliver jumps in the car and speeds out the garage leaving Norman with his hands on his knees still gasping for breath.

Oliver and Shane arrive at Denver's Mercy hospital in plenty of time. Shane is definitely in labor but the next O'Toole isn't coming quite as quickly as it originally seemed. The night wears on - Oliver by Shane's side, trying to be the voice of calm encouragement. Oliver has only one thought, the welfare of Shane and his unborn child. He holds her hand. He doesn't hold her hand. He stands by her bed. He stands by the window to give her space. He sits by her side. They talk about the surprise party. They don't talk at all. He offers her a cool washcloth. He pats her brow with the cloth. He tells her she is wonderful. He prays with her and for her. The night and labor wear on.

Just before daybreak, Shane hears the words she is more than ready to hear, "All right, push."

There is no consideration of housing – burned or otherwise. His wife is incredible. Shane is tough, fearless, focused. Childbirth is awe-inspiring. The most beautiful sound he ever heard is a combination of a baby's cry and his wife's tearful laughter in that moment. He cuts the cord. This messy little one is placed on Shane's chest; no masterpiece could be more beautiful.

Oliver O'Toole is overcome.

The infant is cleaned, weighed, measured, and swaddled and finally placed in Oliver's waiting arms.

Holding this child is unlike any gift imaginable. It is as if God Himself places the child in the parent's arms. There is an immediacy of love – unconditional, unexplainable. He has this overwhelming sense of responsibility. He is now a steward of this gift from God. This baby is placed in his arms and he is its caretaker. It was a gift not because of DNA or because of anything the child has done – simply because this baby was born and placed in his arms.

Just as long ago he was placed into the loving arms of Joseph O'Toole, God had gifted them to each other. Joe accepted the gift as his own. Joe was the caregiver – the father to this little boy. Now that little boy is a man. He is responsible only for receiving, respecting and loving the gift of fatherhood from Joe. It is a gift one never earns; it is gift to be received and treasured. Joe O'Toole is his father. He is his only son.

To be told a great truth is one thing. To experience a truth deep in one's soul is another.

Joe, Rita and Norman spent the night in the waiting room of the fourth floor of the hospital – the floor for labor and delivery.

Rita and Norman have given into sleep – Rita with her head on Norman's shoulder – Norman's head propped back on the wall.

Oliver stepped to the door of the room. Words really weren't needed. Oliver's face upon entering the waiting room said it all.

"Dad, dad," called Oliver softly, trying not to wake the sleeping Dorman's. He motioned for Joe to follow him.

Joe enters the hospital room. A very tired daughter-in-law glows as she holds this little bundle. Oliver takes the baby from Shane and hands the infant to Joe.

"Daddy, this is Joseph Henry O'Toole."

"He's beautiful. He's perfect. Hey little fellow. You were in a hurry to get here."

"We're going to call him Henry. Since we plan to spend a great deal of time together we thought it would be less confusing than having two Joes."

"That's fine," Joe answers never taking his eyes off his grandson.

"Dad, did you hear me?"

"Sure, you're calling him Henry," says Joe.

"No, well yes, but not that part. I said we plan to spend a great deal of time together. I mean after all you are his only grandfather."

"I sure am."

"Dad, please forgive me."

"For what," says Joe with a smile.

Tears stream down Oliver's face. The goodness of his life is all that overwhelms him now.

"Dad, I hope he is just like you."


	10. Chapter 10

Little Henry O'Toole may have been three weeks early but he still weighed 7 lbs. 4 ounces and was 21 inches long. Shane and son were allowed to go home early Sunday morning. Rita and Norman had taken care of moving all the gifts and setting up the crib in the house so that everything would be ready for mother and child. The day rolls into night and night into day those first hours home with a new baby. Neither Oliver nor Shane sleep. Neither of them cares – yet. By late Monday afternoon Oliver convinced Shane to close her eyes until it was time for Henry to nurse. He gently stroked the new mom's hair as she drifted to sleep. He had just slipped from the bedroom when he realized someone was on the porch.

"Mr. O'Toole."

"Mr. Henderson, what brings you by?"

"I tried to reach you by phone. First I tried your work and then I tried your home. Finally I heard your wife had the baby and I just could not wait any longer."

"My apologies with baby coming early and everything else I forgto to write your check."

"Oh I didn't come by for the check. I came by to give you this."

"Mr. Henderson, it is exquisite. I don't know what to say. The craftsmanship is extraordinary."

"Oh I didn't make it or buy it. I did clean it up a little. It's yours. You remember that cellar we found. This was in it along with this box. They were stored in some kind of big chest and wrapped in cloths. The chest was covered in dirt, mold and mildew but whatever it was it protected these."

"Mr. Henderson, you have no idea how much this means to.."

"I've been in this business a long time. Some people think of me as just someone who moves dirt. I like to think that I find that things that were lost, clear out the past, so folks can move on to the future. Here's the box. I admit I opened it. I think you and Mrs. O'Toole are going to like that too. Give Mrs. O'Toole and the baby my best."

"Oh your check."

"You can just mail it."

Oliver is astonished. Sitting on his porch is a hand carved mahogany cradle. The cradle's head has feathers carved with inlaid tulip and birch. The tapered legs are reinforced with a piece of wood set perpendicular about halfway down the length of the legs. The box has matching pattern of feathers carved on the lid. The rim of the lid was also inlaid with tulip and birch.

Oliver sits in the porch swing and carefully opens the box. Inside is a stained baby bonnet with tatted lace trim and French embroidery along with a matching bib monogramed JHO. A letter on paper so fragile that Oliver fears to open it lest it tear is neatly folded underneath the baby garments.

 _Dearest Letisha,_

 _My darling daughter, I was terribly angry with you when you married Randall O'Toole and he took you west and away from Boston. However, Mr. Frederick assured us that Mr. O'Toole is in fact a good and decent man and will provide for you. Although it will not be in the manner to which you are accustomed._

 _I was wrong to withhold your dowry. I am wiring the money to the bank in Denver. Especially now that I have learned that you are carrying my first grandchild, I thought I should further send you these family heirlooms. They have always gone to the first grandchild and they are rightfully yours. Mother misses you terribly. Perhaps we will travel to see you this spring. I have business in San Francisco. Denver could provide respite along the way._

 _I wanted you to know that wherever you go, wherever you live, whatever you do, I will always be your father and you will always be my beloved daughter._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your Father_

 _Langston Hepplewhite_

Oliver takes his cell phone from his pocket and looks at it for a moment. He cautiously opens it and calls his dad.

"Oliver, you're using you phone!" Joe answers.

"Well yes. Shane is inside and Henry is asleep and I'm on the porch so I thought I might…." says Oliver

"Give it try. That's great. What's up?"

"Dad, do you know anything about a family cradle?"

"A cradle? My grandfather mentioned a cradle that was passed down through Leticia Hepplewhite's family but no one knows what happened to it."

"I think I am looking at it."

Oliver proceeds to explain.

"Oliver do you have any idea what you have? Look at that crossbar. Does it forms an H."

"Yes."

"That's the orginal Heppliwhite cradle as in Hepplewhite furniture makers."

"Oh my goodness."

"Son do you have any idea it's value?"

"Yes, dad. I think I do."

In losing a house Oliver had found a buried treasure – a symbol of family and a symbol of acceptance and legacy. In the birth of a child he had also found a new understanding of fatherhood and family and faith. He continued to sit in the porch swing another hour. He sat there not so much as to keep from disturbing Shane or his sleeping son but in order to absorb what rested before him, to ponder the overwhelming events of the past week. It would be the beautiful cry of his baby that would call him out of his thoughts back into the present.

Before he could carry the cradle into the house, Shane had already risen and scooped up Henry. He was an easy baby and nursed readily. Oliver waited for feeding time to end before sharing with Shane their newfound treasure. But Oliver understood his greatest treasures, his greatest inheritance was the love of Joseph O'Toole, his earthly father; his greatest discovery was his helpmate, Shane McInerney O'Toole; and his greatest blessing was the child she held. He was heir to a fortune.

Later that evening Oliver and Shane's attention was drawn to the sound of a car parking in front of the house.

"Look, It's Rita and Norman," says Shane.

"Were you expecting them?" asks Oliver.

"No."

The O'Toole's watch as a smiling Norman leads an obviously shocked Rita by the hand up the steps.

"Does Rita appear a bit odd?" Oliver asked Shane.

"She doesn't seem herself," replied Shane.

The two greet their friends on the porch.

"Rita, Norman, What a nice surprise," said Shane.

"Well we wanted you two to be the first to know. Well actually the second to know. Rita's dad was the first to - no actually we were the first."

"Norman," interrupts Shane.

"Today we got a call from the adoption agency. They have our baby!" says Norman with a gleeful smile.

"That's wonderful my friend. We could not be happier for you," replies Oliver.

"The adoptive family backed out at the last minute and they called us," says Norman.

Rita is standing there in an apparent state of shock. The last time Shane saw Rita looking like this was when she was unexpectedly named Miss Special Delivery.

"Rita, are you all right? I know it is unexpected timing but trust the timing!" Shane says enthusiastically trying to reassure her friend.

"I'll be glad to share diapers. We have plenty," continues Shane.

Rita nods and forces a smile but still doesn't speak.

"And guess what else!" Norman is absolutely beside himself by this point. "You know last month when we thought Rita had the flu. It wasn't the flu. It was a baby! WE ARE PREGNANT!"

"Oh my goodness. Two babies at one time. That is a miracle," says Oliver. The two men hug each other in joy."

"Rita everything will work out. We will throw you a really big baby shower."

Shane places her arm around Rita's shoulders and escorts her inside.

"Why don't we sit down," Shane says.

All Rita can do is nod. Their rainbow of babies is just beginning.


	11. Chapter 11

Three Years Later

Oliver turns off the highway into the long driveway that leads to the large gray siding and stone house whose very design is reminiscent of Victorian architecture. A large porch wraps around three sides. A white swing hangs prominently on the front porch. In the back yard is a child's swing set complete with sliding board. Meeting the drive in the back is a dirt road that cuts across a large field and connects to a small, refurbished farmhouse.

Oliver parks his car just in time to watch as Joe lowers Henry from the tractor.

"Daddy, Daddy," called Henry, running to Oliver as fast as his three-year-old legs will carry him.

Oliver scoops the little fellow into his arms to receive the best welcome any father possibly can receive – a hug and a kiss from his child.

"Daddy guess what."

"What?" asked Oliver with a smile.

"Poppa took me for a ride on his tractor and now we are going to Mr. Bill's in Poppa's truck."

"You are?"

"Mr. Bill has biggies."

"Bill's eggs hatched today," said Joe with a wink and nod to Oliver.

"Oh, biddies. Mr. Bill has baby chicks."

"Yes, he has seben," said Henry, holding up all of five fingers with great enthusiasm. "Can Olivia go too?"

"I think Olivia is too young."

"But she didn't get to ride the tractor and now she can't go see the biggies."

"Well she is only three weeks old. I think she may need to be a little older."

"Like me?"

"Just like you," said Oliver, hugging his wonderful child once more before setting Henry's feet back on the ground.

"Poppa, let's go!" said Henry, running for the truck.

"Wait by the truck. Let me speak to your dad."

"Ok Poppa!" the little fellow calls.

"How's the promotion?"

"Different. But going well?

"How was your day or do I need to ask?" Oliver asked clearly seeing that both his father and his son are beaming.

"It was perfect. Bill and I plowed the east field this morning – getting ready to so do some organic, terrace gardening. We haven't tried that before. You're going to love it. I rocked the sweetest little girl this afternoon while Shane got a short nap. And then my grandson and I took a ride on the tractor. And that is as good as life gets."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Not tonight. Go in and spend some time with your wife and Olivia. I'll have Henry home in a couple of hours. Henry is eating with Bill and me – after we see the 'biggies' of course."

The two men smile.

"I think I will do just that."

"It's all Shane approved," shouts Joe walking toward the truck and his anxiously waiting grandson.

"Thanks Dad," Oliver calls.

Oliver's heart is full. This really is as good as it gets. He takes the stone steps two at time, enters the foyer and goes immediately to the master suite. He can see the back of her blond hair as she sits in the rocking chair in their bedroom. He can tell from her position it is suppertime for Olivia.

Shane hears the familiar and welcome sound of the love her life coming in the room.

"Hi," she says softly, not even needing to turn around.

"Hi, how are my girls?" Oliver replies quietly, gently stroking the top of Shane's head, not wanting to interrupt.

"Wonderful. Thanks to your dad I had a two hour nap today."

Oliver chuckled as he thought of his dad describing it as short. "He is an adequate father-in-law."

"He's the best. Just like his son."

Oliver cannot resist stealing a kiss from her forehead.

"The choir brought dinner for us tonight."

"That was thoughtful."

"Dale dropped it off."

"How is Dale?"

"Miserable. The baby is due any day. And daddy's girl is finished," said Shane, siting up and adjusting her clothing with one hand while holding Olivia with the other. "Aren't you sweetie? You ate well. Yes you did. Spending time with Poppa make you hungry?"

Oliver hangs his suit coat, removes his tie, rolls up his sleeves and throws a cloth diaper over his shoulder.

"Come sweet love. It's daddy's turn," said Oliver, taking Olivia from Shane and kissing his blue-eyed bonnie.

"Would you like to sit outside a little while before dinner?" he is speaking to Shane but his eyes are fixed on the infant in his arms.

"Certainly. Let me freshen up," says Shane.

Oliver smiles at his wife and thinks how beautiful she looks as she walks across their bedroom – no makeup, ponytail, and flowing floral blouse. She is beautiful because she is beautiful to Oliver.

"I missed you while I was work. Did you miss me? Look at you trying to talk to me. One day we will read Shakespeare together. Right now we are going outside to sit in the porch swing. Does Daddy's precious girl need a blanket? Let's get a blanket. No, you do not like that ugly green blanket. You stay away from ugly green things until you are at least 40. Shane, where is that little pink blanket…the one with the lamb on it? Olivia likes it best."

Before Shane can answer, he spots the blanket hanging on the end of the Hepplewaite family cradle. In the cradle is a baby bonnet with a set of initials freshly monogramed - OSO.

The man who quotes Shakespeare and the Bible is reduced to babble with Olivia in his arms. He swaddles his bundle of joy and holds her close.

It is the loveliest of June evenings and the three sit in silence for a while in the swing. Just being together is enough. Finally Shane breaks the silence.

"Did your Dad tell you he saved the day?"

"He said he held Olivia while you took a short nap."

"Did he really say short nap?"

Oliver nods and smiles.

"He really is the best," says Shane with a chuckle. "Henry was a bit of handful this morning."

"Oh my, do we need to speak with him?"

"No, no. I think he was a little tired and maybe a little insecure. I believe he got used to you being at home."

"Spoiled?" asks Oliver raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe. Anyway it was almost lunch time and he was hungry and Olivia was hungry so I got the bright idea that I could hold her in my left arm, let her nurse while I made his lunch."

"And how did that go or should I ask?" said Oliver with a smile that matched the knowing grin on Shane's face.

"Well, Olivia wouldn't nurse and she was crying, then I managed to knock Henry's sandwich and his apple sauce in the floor, then he started crying. He had a little accident while crying and wet his pants."

"Oh my goodness, I don't remember the last time that happened."

"It's not uncommon when a new baby comes on the scene but it did upset him. But wait, it gets better."

"I fear hearing any more," Oliver said with a grin and an eye-roll

"Olivia is crying, I'm leaking breast milk, Henry grabs my leg and continues to cry. I'm afraid we all three are going to wind up in the floor so I just sit down in the floor - in the apple sauce."

"Oh no."

The two adults in swing enjoy a good laugh now.

"That's when your dad walks in. I hadn't had a shower. Everything was a mess. The children were crying and he was wonderful. He didn't flinch. He just squats down in the floor….."

"Hey guys, want a little help?" offers a calm and a gently smiling Joe O'Toole, scratching his grandson on the back.

Henry turns to Joe and throws both arms around his neck, "Poppa, that baby cries too much!"

"She does? Oh my goodness. Well you stand right here while I help your mother get up."

Joes brings Shane to her feet insuring Olivia's safety as well. The gracious man pretends not to notice the mess in the kitchen or Shane's disheveled, slightly exposed self. Once he is certain mother and daughter are safely on their feet he turns his attention back to Henry.

"What you say you and I go upstairs and get you some clean clothes and talk about this crying sister of yours?"

Joe winks at Shane as she says, "Thank you."

Shane goes in the bedroom to get herself out of pants that sat in applesauce and to resume feeding Olivia. Minus the chaos the little one suckles without prompting. The monitor in the room allows Shane to hear the conversation that is taking place upstairs.

"Poppa, she just cries and cries and I'm hungry."

"Do you know why she cries?"

"Because she just does. She just cries."

"She cries because that's the only way she can tell us when something is wrong. She hasn't learned to talk." Joe pauses. He can see the wheels turning in the three-year-old mind.

"She can't tell us when she is hungry or cold or lonely or her tummy hurts. So she has to cry," continues Joe.

"Her tummy hurts?"

"If it does the only way she can tell us is to cry. That's why mommy and daddy work so hard to take care of her."

"I can take care of her."

"You sure can."

"I can teach her fings. I can count – one, two, free, fibe, seben, nine, seben, ten. I can teach her to say fings. I talk good. And I can jump – see," declares Henry complete with demonstration.

"You sure do. Now, let's go downstairs and get you some lunch. Pick up you clothes. Let's put them in the wash."

Jabbering all the way down the steps, to the laundry room, and then to the kitchen, Henry finds a new outlook on crying baby sisters.

"Your dad not only made Henry's lunch but also mine. Put Henry down for a nap and then watched Olivia while I slept."

"I'm glad he was here. It was hard to leave you this morning," said Oliver.

"Your dad asked if I would mind if he came by around lunch time for a few days. You didn't have anything to do with his coming at lunchtime today did you?"

"I cannot confirm or deny," replied Oliver with a grin and raised eyebrow.

Both laugh at the obvious answer to that question.

"She is asleep. Shall I put her down while we warm some dinner?"

The family rises from the swing and goes inside. Oliver handles kitchen duty insisting Shane take advantage of his being home and rest. The least she will agree to do is to sit in the kitchen while he works and tells her all about his day. With dinner complete and Olivia still asleep the two have a few minutes just for each other.

Oliver wraps his arms around Shane and searches her face.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"Feel free to tell me. As Henry would say, "You talk good."

Melting into him the two share a much-longed for kiss.

Oliver took three weeks off when Olivia Shannon O'Toole was born. Today was not only his first day back at work but also his first day on a new job. He is now the coordinator for all mail recovery in the United States. In addition to administrative responsibilities, he will handle major cases that require special handling. He has his own personal office with a desk and the latest computer – which he can now begrudgingly operate. Rita has Oliver's old job with an expanded staff of eleven under her. The Denver office is now headquarters for all mail recovery east of the Mississippi.

Norman is a stay at home dad with four children under the age of five. Their first adorable child is a little girl of Asian descent, Jade. Jade is four and wears glasses that she pushes up on one side just like her mother. Norman, Jr. is almost three and is sweet and sensitive like his dad. When twins from Latin America needed a family the Dormans couldn't say no. Maria and Marco are six months of age. Bill is certain they will become botanists or horticulturalists because they are happiest when he pushes them around the farm in their double stroller. Norman secretly disagrees. He is certain one will be a postal historian. When Norman isn't chasing children he is an inventor. He has his own lab at home. He also writes articles for a magazine on postal history as well as a monthly question and answer column.

Shane has chosen to stay home for a while. However, with her computer skills and security clearance she could do contract work – on occasion. While her first pregnancy had been easy, the second pregnancy had proven to be a challenge. That is part of the reason Oliver had so much difficulty leaving her and had arranged with his dad unbeknownst to Shane for him to be there everyday from lunch until late afternoon. She needed a little more recovery time, especially if they have a third child, which they want very much.

Yes, Shane and Oliver marry, go on a fabulous honeymoon, and continue to build a wonderful life together. They cherish each other, they don't take each other for granted, they remember that physical intimacy matters no matter how many children you have, they keep faith a priority. And when the baggage of the past begins to weigh in on the present, they talk and remember what matters most.

That night Oliver sits reading in the den in a leather club chair, his feet on the ottoman. The house is quiet. He has reassured Shane that if Olivia wakes that he is capable of getting the bottle that she prepared and feeding his precious little girl. If she refuses the bottle he has pledged to wake his weary wife. He glances across the room toward the master suite and smiles thinking of his beautiful wife sleeping there and the great joy they share in being married – to each other. A little boy in blue plaid pajamas making his way across the den catches his eye and interrupts his concentration. There will be no reading tonight.

"Henry, what are you doing out of bed? I thought you were asleep."

The little fellow ignores the question altogether as only a three-year-old can and climbs into his daddy's lap resting his head on Oliver's chest. The hands that held the book now become the arms of warm embrace. Henry responds by snuggling all the closer.

"Is everything ok?"

The little boy nods.

"Did you and poppa have fun today?"

Sitting straight up Henry declares, "Yes, we saw chickens."

Having answered the question Henry buries his head back into Oliver's chest. Oliver gently rubs the back of first-born. His little boy's eyes begin to close.

"Daddy," whispers Henry. "Did you sit in Poppa's lap when you were little like me?"

"Yes, son I did,"

"Did he read you stories like he reads to me?"

"Yes he did."

"Did he love you like he loves me?"

"Yes son, my daddy sure did."

And he still does.


End file.
